Mors Et Timor
by Minion and Megamind
Summary: As head psychiatrist of Arkham Asylum, Dr. Crane holds a secure position in which he is able to pursue his true desire:fear. However a certain cold Mortician forces him to extremes when Arkham undergos an investigation that threatens his life work. -By Minion (Warning: Disturbing Content)
1. Prologue: Straightjacket Hangman

**Ello everyone, Minion here! First I would like to take a moment to fangirl...EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! *cough cough* okay, now that I'm done I'd like to explain a few things XD I began this story with a close friend of mine (Megamind) about a year ago and now it's well on its way to being finished. After some debate Megamind and I decided to post our stories seperately then join our crazy writing forces on another story after our first ones are done. Now this is the first book/story of my creation that is so big o.o not to mention it is complete although I'll be updating every Saturday with a new chapter since I'm halfway through writing the sequel ^-^ So I hope you all enjoy this story, and while there is 'romance' this story is centered more around darker themes and includes some angst with the occasional dabble in violence but most of all the chilling mind games and mental torture that is customary with Dr. Crane ^-^. Also I do not in any way, shape, or form own Batman/Batman Begins or anything affiliated with it. With that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue:<strong>

**Chapter 1 Dr. Crane POV**

I was uneasy...it wasn't the weather or even the general incompetence of the staff but a death within the asylum. Normally I wouldn't mind, it only brought room for new cases and different opportunities to experiment. My mild agitation lied in 'Gotham's finest' insistence on viewing the body with an 'outside resource' for a second opinion. I found the entire matter to be a waste of time and money. Our staff wasn't so terribly useless as to not correctly label the crazie's death as suicide. The nutter _hanged_ himself with his own straightjacket. There was no question about his identity or the manner in which he died.

Yet the dour news didn't stop there. I learned just a moment ago the usual forensic team was overwhelmed by a current string of serial murders and acts of arson around Gotham. I was assured the finest replacement was coming but I remained doubtful. Nevermind the more pressing matters I could be attending to, I was stuck outside the crazie's cell surrounded by guards and police tape. Did this 'finest replacement' have no sense of punctuality?

I straightened my posture as I saw a team of forensics part through the slight crowd of guards and orderlies. They flashed badges and the guards let them through the cell door to view and photograph the scene to their hearts content...Why was my presence required for such tedious tasks?

"Dr. Crane, we're all very sorry about this last minute scuffle but we've brought our replacement," one of the badged members said with an expression mixing both grim and assuring in only a way a policeman would manage.

A deathly pale woman of average height with short, feathered gold brown hair approached with a calculating gaze, sharp behind her thin, black rimmed glasses. She might have been just another face if not for the odd black trench coat she wore which seemed to swallow her up.

I smiled tightly and cleared my throat, "It's a pleasure Dr..."

She flashed me a brief yet empty smile, "Ms. Revis, I'm not a doctor."

I raised my eyebrows to convey my surprise but quickly lowered them so as not to insult her. The policeman spoke once more, "I assure you Ms. Revis is the best in the field, well she would be if she was in the field..." he trailed off the smiled brightly at her, "Come now Revis, there's work to be done—Hey, where'd she go?"

I blinked, hadn't he seen her walk in front of him to enter the room? Stifling laughter I walked into the room myself and watched as the observation took place. The small crew was crammed into the cell, taking pictures, and talking quietly among themselves but my interest lied in the replacement pathologist.

She at first froze and seemed unable to move...what was wrong with the world? Was everyone incompetent at their job? Whatever gave her pause she soon recovered and kneeled near the body already putting on plastic gloves.

Without even touching the body her eyes quickly scanned the loon's position as she spoke to me, "What relation did you have with the patient?"

I cleared my throat once more but she didn't spare me a glance, "I was his psychiatrist."

She didn't seem to respond and instead shuffled forward gingerly touching the body here and there, seemingly immune to the black tongue that peeked out from behind a stiffened jaw while a slightly frothy concoction dribbled off the corner of his mouth.

Standing she looked down at the dead crazie before looking at me sharply, "When did you find the patient?"

I met her gaze readily enough, "I was informed by an orderly earlier today around eight o'clock."

She didn't blink, "If I may be frank why would a patient already restrained by a straightjacket be placed in a confined room with restraints already available yet retain his bindings?"

I noted how her voice wavered while she spoke of straightjackets...interesting.

"The patient had missed his medication causing him to slip into a rage. The patient was restrained and sedated then moved to an safe environment."

She tilted her head to the side, "Are most violent patients so carelessly restrained around volatile surroundings?"

I raised an eyebrow, "As you can see there is very little to cause a patient accidental harm."

She glanced back to the dead man who had managed to tie his sleeves around a restraint on the bed and hang himself, "Apparently intentional harm is found readily enough..."

I frowned about to reply when one of the forensics spoke, "Hey Revis, you ready to move the Vic to the morgue?"

She nodded and easily untied the crazie's sleeves, carefully catching the now limp body. With practiced ease she lifted the body onto a waiting gurney and in a body bag.

I was about to leave when she spoke once more, "If you would Dr. Crane, I would like to ask a few more questions."

I nodded easily, "Very well, I'll arrange-"

She flashed another hollow smile, "That's not necessary, the morgue will suffice."

I straightened out my posture and nodded compliantly waiting for the useless conversation that was sure to follow.

While walking to the morgue I couldn't help but analyze her. After all boredom and psychiatric training did not mix well. Her gaze was sharp but resigned just as her posture was constantly changing between tall and turned in. She hadn't asked to shake my hand or make any small talk aside from a few questions. From just this and her habit of constantly flashing false smiles I could tell she was either socially awkward or deeply disturbed by her surroundings, maybe even the situation...but was she scared? No, now wasn't the time to think about my _real _work.

"Are you alright? You seem a bit distracted, Ms. Revis?" I asked as she unconsciously slowed her pace as she look around discretely.

She jumped a little, "Oh, I'm fine I assure you," another fake smile, "This is my first time being inside such a facility."

I nodded, "Well there's nothing too interesting about these walls unlike those within them."

She was silent and continued on her way...yes definitely socially awkward.

The temperature dropped as we arrived at the medical wing of the asylum. The floor continued to slope as we passed by nurses and other stations to enter the morgue. Instantly her behavior changed. Without so much as a glance to me she strolled in with a straight back and immediately removed her oversized trench coat which she folded onto the bottom shelf of the gurney. Underneath her trench coat she wore dark, nondescript clothing which only contrasted against her already pale skin. She quickly cleaned the metal surface of the examination table then began to unzip the body bag and transfer the body to the examination table. For a moment I thought she had forgotten me before she spoke without looking up, "Is there a single model for the straightjackets Arkham uses?"

I found myself a bit put off. How was I, the head psychiatrist and leading power of the staff, supposed to know the technicalities of _straightjackets_?

"I am unaware of every model; however, I do know that most our straightjackets are standard issue. Perhaps the archives would better your inquiries. After all there is nothing more certain than death and taxes."

She didn't give me a second thought as she gingerly turned the crazie over.

"If you would Dr. Crane," she motioned toward herself and I stepped closer, "Why would a patient take the trouble of loosening these bindings to free his arms then chew off the stitched closing of his sleeves to hang himself when taking off the straightjacket and then making a suitable ligature would be simpler with less effort on time?"

I raised an eyebrow, they were crazy what did rationality matter?

"The whims of a suicidal patient-"

"Suicidal patient?" she cut me off, "I've been given an overview of the patient before arriving. He suffered from an extreme bi-polar disorder and was considered dangerous but definitely _not_ suicidal. What I attempting to allude to earlier, Dr. Crane, was the lack of time the patient felt he possessed. Even within rages there's no indication of delusion or panic merely misplaced or exaggerated anger which _wouldn't_ cause the patient to attempt escape through death. Furthermore," she had been taking measurements of the buckles and lengths while talking but now she swiftly unbuckled each fastening with ease and gently lifted the shirt to reveal several buckle shaped bruises, "straightjackets, while causing harm usually found with muscle pain or swollen elbows due to the pooling of blood if used for prolonged periods of time are meant to _peacefully_ restrain patients. The bruises here are a sign of careless restraint, even in times of rages these bruises would not appear unless the straightjacket itself had been tightened to such an extent not only recently but frequently."

She looked up at me sharply with blue gold eyes before gently lowering the dead nutter and gingerly pulled back the long sleeves used as an impromptu noose.

"Ms. Revis, surely you've heard of hypostasis, the blood may have collected in the form of the buckles from-"

She abruptly looked up to fix me with a deep look, "Dr. Crane, I would advise you not to make assumptions about my patient, hypostasis had already taken effect," she let go of the sleeves and moved to the legs which she revealed to be seemingly heavily laden with bruises, "here as the blood collected to the bottom of the body," she replaced the leg and returned to the sleeves, "As you may recall the man was lying mostly on the floor in what is known as partial hanging, leaving his upper body extremely pale. The fact that the impressions on his back still retain a bruising colour consistent with the buckles of the straightjacket show mistreatment and allude to brutality among patients from their supposed care givers."

Before she was taking measurements around the sleeves and making small notes on a piece of paper but now she began removing the clothes from his body, which became difficult as the body seemed stiff.

"Your patient?" I asked trying to distance the conversation from her accusation.

She nodded, "Time of death approximately 0345, the moment he died he fell under my jurisdiction."

Odd...

"Pardon me for my ignorance but I believe you aren't a part of the forensics team, _Ms. _Revis."

She looked up at me while carefully folding the straightjacket, "I work with the dead, why would I waste time I could have otherwise used to do my _job,_ for a _certified _piece of paper to vouch for my skills? I know as much if not more than the usual team of _certified _forensic pathologists but I don't need a piece of paper to tell me as much."

My my what a witty, eccentric woman indeed...

"While that may be the case, Ms. Revis I am only referring to the fact that any _uncertified _work would be considered invalid within the state."

She smiled once more, a chilling smile, "Unless the work is supervised by a _certified forensic_ _pathologist_ which it is."

I was about to argue when I noticed one of the nervous looking assistants in a corner of the morgue watching meekly. Well—

"Even if my work was deemed _invalid_ there's more than enough information to cast a full fledged investigation over Arkham."

I cleared my throat, "An investigation?"

She smiled once more, "Numerous speculations and accusations have been brought to the state's attention about the facility here. While my work would act as a valuable asset, the investigation is already underway with plenty of _valid_ resources."

So she was the metaphorical cherry on top...Well I'd like to have my cake and eat it. I didn't spend my life working until this point to have some stiff lipped lawyers and county officials look into matters that are far beyond their comprehension...As she said she was just the icing atop the cake, there would be no need to strike against her although her arrogant behavior needed to be kept in line should we ever meet again—

There was a small beeping which was quickly identifiable as my pager. I lifted the small device and smiled tightly. Looking up to Revis who had sufficiently stripped and respectively covered the dead nutter and now held a scalpel, I spoke, "I'm afraid I have a pressing appointment to attend, perhaps another time, Ms. Revis?"

She looked calm enough although I saw some tension within her shoulders as she replied, "As I've said before I am not a member of the field. If you wish to speak to someone about the investigation—"

"And what if I intend to speak to you, Ms. Revis?"

She cocked her head, "Whatever for, Dr. Crane? The only relating factor between us is the patient whom I intend to see to exclusively. If you have any questions about the patient you may contact me at the local Gotham funeral parlor, if not I have no further business to conduct with you."

Cold and to the point, I daresay she's becoming a threat.

"Very well, I know where to find you."

She gave me a mistrusting look and I felt her gaze on me as I left the room. Yes, I believe I shall be calling on you very soon Ms. Revis. You're far too knowledgeable for your own well being.

…Later That Day...

"Hello Jonathan," a stuffy member of the staff said as she walked toward me while I was pouring myself a cheap cup of coffee in the staff lounge.

I nodded my head in acknowledgment but remained silent.

Another shark darted in, this time the head of security, "How you faring Doctor? Heard you met Revis, ah she's a real catch."

How unfortunate, it seems I'll have no choice but to engage in some joke of a conversation with these incompetent fools.

"Ms. Revis seemed very devoted to her work, Mr. Cedar—" I began.

The man cut me off by laughing, he was quite red in the face before he was through, "Oh I didn't mean that kinda catch, Doctor. She's like a rabid dog with a fresh pile o' meat. Whenever she gets called in for a case that the state can't take she won't let go of the poor bugger."

The stuffy staff member, was Mrs. Carol the name (?) spoke up, "Now now Mr. Cedar, such dedication to justice—"

He laughed again, "Mark my words, somethin's not right about 'er. Looks like one of 'em vampires or ghosts. Hear she'll only work graveyard shifts," he broke off to chuckle, "only appropriate if you ask me."

Mrs. Carol (?) cut him off before he put his other foot in his mouth, "I only hope that dreadful case is closed soon enough. Did you hear there's an _investigation_ going on at the Asylum? Here? Of all places!"

I smiled tightly eager to leave the blubbering fools to their own folly, "In the end, peace will be kept. Now, forgive me for my manners but I'm a bit behind on paperwork and I must be leaving."

"G'night Doctor, watch out for 'em crazies...somethin's got 'em all riled up," Mr. Cedar said shaking his head, "Mark my words, it's that chit Revis...she's no one's good news."

"Mr. Cedar, please do refrain from talking about the patients in such a way—"

Without giving them a chance to continue I quickly walked away but I was unable to leave before overhearing the new topic.

Mrs. Carol's (?) shrill voice all but stage whispered, "Did you notice how ragged poor Jonathan looked? I swear all that time he spends out in his office isn't healthy for the man."

"Ah yer worrying too much, that bloke's just a backward fellow. He's doin' no one 'arm but 'imself."

I clenched my jaw...even now as I wore the finest suits, acted with impeccable manners, handled whatever dreary cases were sent my way, and _still_ I was treated poorly...Oh yes peace will be kept, for in the end there will be no one left in my way to deter my research or _ever_ make a fool out of me again.


	2. Prologue: Straightjacket Hangman Part 2

**Ello, Minion here! I promised updates on Saturdays and seeing how it is now...12:11am on a Saturday I thought I'd update! XXD I've been looking forward to this day all~ week. Thank you for everyone who has commented so far and I hope this chapter (while painfully short) will appease you all until next week. As much as it pains me to say the next few chapters are short as well although most will be longer than this. Trust me though, the later chapters are very long x.x Oh and I forgot to mention last chapter that while this story stands on its own I am going to make references to my prequel "Jonathan Crane: The Origin of The Scarecrow" which is on my shared profile! Also I do not in any way, shape, or form own Batman/Batman Begins or anything affiliated with it. Although I do own Revis and the plot. Yep, Revis is Mine mine mine mine! . My character! XXD With that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue: Chapter 2<strong>

...One Week Later...

How troublesome...It appears despite my best efforts at secrecy I've been called in for questioning by the now dangerous mortician at the local forensics lab. Sighing irritably I exited my car and pulled my suit down reassuringly. While my briefcase held a secret department with both my mask and fear toxin I also kept small canisters of gas on my person, contained in thick plastic containers to avoid detection by any metal detectors should I ever come across one.

With a bit of walking, flash of an ID, forced smiles, and more walking I found myself just outside the lab Ms. Revis was said to occupy. I opened the frosted, glass door and immediately found myself looking into the odd, blue gold gaze of the increasingly annoying mortician. She didn't say anything so I took the incentive and walked toward her, hand outstretched, "Good morning, Ms. Revis."

She paused then timidly met my hand and shook it once, very lightly, then quickly broke contact.

How peculiar...

After clearing her throat she responded, "Dr. Crane, I didn't expect to meet you again and certainly not under these circumstances."

Smoothly I replied, "What circumstances would there be?"

She looked at me with a mixed expression then turned to the papers on a lab table, "I've come to question you about the medication you placed the patient under."

She looked at me while still facing away and I found myself smiling internally at her odd behavior but retained my concerned expression externally, "I'm not sure what there is to question. The information you've received is accurate."

She turned around and leaned against the table, allowing her black trench coat to shift aside to reveal equally dark clothing and...was that the hilt of a knife? Was she threatening me or was this slip up unnoticed on her behalf?

"Reports from toxicology labs find tracings of other chemical properties not found in any singular or combined mixture of the drugs you've supplied us with. Even sedatives and other pacifying narcotics were taken into account. My questions are a bit more direct. Was there a change of medication, new treatment, anything that would be consistent with the unidentified substance?" she handed me a small pile of papers, "Here's a copy of the toxicology report, please do look them over."

Why would a lowly mortician think to drug test a _hanged_ nutter? There was nothing to suspect foul play concerning the death. I suppose that detestable man, Mr. Cedar, wasn't lying when he spoke of her _diligence _to whatever case she held...However I wanted my experiments to remain private which would be difficult if she kept poking her nose around where it didn't belong.

Well at least most of the chemical formula for my fear toxin had been out of his system by the time he hung himself. What remained were fairly average chemicals easily found in—

"These compounds are easily found in the cafeteria food," before she could interrupt I looked up and smiled charmingly, "Most children refuse to eat their vegetables imagine the task of ensuring demented criminals hold a balanced diet."

She didn't blink, "You _drug_ your cafeteria food?"

I looked deeply into her eyes, "Think of it as the additives within the food you buy at the market. It's already full of nutrients but more vitamins and antioxidants are added anyway. Although if I may remark, it's a bit odd to spare so much time to a suicide case when most of Gotham is run rampant with chaos."

She met my gaze coldly, "As you know I am not a part of the field which means I am above the wild goose chases Gotham's finest finds content to frantically run. My only work lies with the dead and each patient of mine is given the utmost thought and care. I was curious as to why a normal if not violent man with bi-polar syndrome was in a panicked rush to hang himself."

Yes, definitely too smart for her own good.

"You're not motivated to catch the killers?" I asked and handed the report back to her.

She shook her head as she placed the papers on the table, "Everyone dies, Dr. Crane, my only concern is to correctly tell the story of the deceased."

This woman brought antisocial to a new level. She was so dedicated in her work that her morals were slipping.

"The _story_ of that man, Ms. Revis, was that of a violent murderer. His bi-polar disorder not only supplied him with the strength to kill while under a rage but also a sympathy card to play with the courts. His life was well remembered as it took the lives of others."

She paused a moment before speaking quietly not meeting my gaze, "I understand no one is without fault and there are those who deserve punishment in life moreso than others," she looked up at me with pressing eyes, "but in the end there's no one to tell the story of who that man really was. His actions defined him within the media's eyes and the eyes of his peers but what of his past? What of the last moments that man lived? Humanity is a complex entity only united through death. Death discriminates against no one and in the end when there's no one alive to remember the faults of another or the changing whims of society, nothing will matter for death is obsolete."

I titled my head slightly and said coldly, "In the end there will be no one to tell the story of the deceased for surely even someone like you will die."

She smiled charmingly, "Everyday I'm faced with the mortality of men. I have no qualms with death just as I have no incentive to let you distract me from my work. Now Dr. Crane, I'd appreciate it greatly if you were to deliver me the average menu, recipes, shipments of both supplies and food at the asylum as well as the recorded sessions between the patient and his counselor in addition to whatever time you have spent with him as well. I'll arrange for a health inspector as well as a few members from the field to look into the matter further."

Damn her...she would have to be taken care of after all.

"Very well, Ms. Revis...I only wonder if you're alluding to a murderer at the asylum. It seems that matter would greatly interest the board and you may find the staff more cooperative under more pressing circumstances."

She became guarded, "There is no question as to his death only the mentality that lead to his death. You mentioned a lapse in his scheduled medication as well as sedation and yet there are many factors which remain unexplained. That coupled with the ongoing investigation at the asylum is a more _dire _circumstance than any murderer at the asylum...from the sound of it there's plenty of them there. There's no need to feed the gossiping hysteria running rampant through the media already, nevermind its influence on the populace. Good day, Dr. Crane."

And with that she left the room in a timely fashion with her black trench coat flaring out behind her...Oh my, what a troublesome woman indeed.


	3. Chapter 1: Mortician

**Ello! Minion here! Once again it is Saturday which of course means another chapter of Mors Et Timor! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, each review makes me smile with the happiness of a fangirl! Also for this chapter (and the many many to come) I would like to clarify a few things. **

**This story 'Mors Et Timor' is Latin for 'Death and Fear'. The sequel is called 'Timor Et Mors' or 'Fear and Death'. So in the first story 'Mors Et Timor' there will be more focus on Revis, our wonderful mortician, and so a lot of the story will be told in her POV. Not to worry, for most of the story Dr. Crane's brilliance will _not_ be underplayed or overshadowed. If anything this is a front row seat to Dr. Crane's elaborate, torturous methods ^-^ Revis is quite a demented character and I dearly hope you all will enjoy spending time with her as she basically lives in a dark world of panic and resentment! So please don't be discouraged, Dr. Crane will return to you all in the future, but first I must 'lay the stage'****, so to speak. **

**And while I know Revis acts more of a Forensic Pathologist than a regular mortician, this was done with extensive research on both topics (I, myself, hope to become a mortician in the all too near future). So think of it this way, Revis knows how to work in both positions and occasionally blurs the lines between each job (despite some of the pesky results (most bodies that have been autopsied with organs removed (and usually put back) can make the draining of blood and filling of embalmbing fluids a lot more difficult)) **

**Also I do not in any way, shape or form own Batman/Batman Begins or anything affiliated with it. With that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1 Revis POV<strong>

…Two Weeks After Meeting With Dr. Crane...

_That is not death which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons the death may die_

_-H.P Lovecraft_

This is the paradox which preoccupies my line of work. True that by the eternal silence [IE: death] honesty is apparent, after all the past _is_ written in stone. However much can be observed and discovered by the remains of life.

I am able to read the entire life of one creature from their entrails, much like the divination of the ancients. Ironically I see not what will be, but what _has_ been.

For example the strange, faded olive complexion that shaded the smooth and cold skin of my patient told me much about her. She (from lack of freckles) used tanning lotions and sprays to bronze her once paler skin (noted from the paler shades of skin seen in her genital area as well as her bottom and bosom) . The moist texture of the skin showed both the passing of rigor mortis as well as the moisturized and well cared for epidermis. Only slight scars, of which were mostly faded, marred her skin. Perhaps due to the random patterns of the lacerations the minor wounds, neither wide nor deep, were inflicted by an animal of some sort: a pet.

Her hair, naturally blonde, was streaked with artificial chocolate tones in choppy layers. Appearance was important as the slight bangs framing her face would have to be cut regularly and already were growing into her eyes.

Hmm, I would see to that after the embalming.

The hair itself, although it now smelled of sterilizing chemicals, kept some sheen of health in their dying glory. The locks of hair, still damp from the previous cleaning, began to curl slightly, unlike the longer pin straight hair that reached towards her shoulders, showing a past perm on the upper layers that never quite faded.

Upon previous inspection of her eyes I noted the glazed, off-white shade of the sclera accented by branches of irritated blood vessels. The cause would be any number of things but that would come later. Her pupils seemed normal enough although they remained dilated and filled most of the pale, grey-blue iris. The eyes themselves seemed off in subtle tones that most wouldn't catch. Although there were no deep or light shadows of capillaries leaking blood just under the skin of her eye, the skin around each orb was puffy and slightly swollen.

Observing the patient was a very important step to begin the process of embalming. Without proper notes the cause of death as well as the personal habits would be lost and ultimately undermine any attempts to honour the life the patient once lived. The second step, after disinfecting and sterilizing the tools, was to note any obvious signs of death or any more suspicious markings. Although most the blood settled in the bottom of the body causing blueish-purplish bruise like marks to appear, it was important to not mistake those markings for actual injuries.

Once no external sign had been detected, or any that have been noted were carefully recorded, the mortician (me) would then delve into the body to map out organs, look for any oddities, or to reassure the belief of a natural death. This was done using the y-incision a widely practiced method used to open the chest cavity to view the organs below. The incision began from both the left and right collarbone to the sternum then down again to the pelvic bone as each flap of skin is pulled back revealing the rib cage which is easily cut open by rib cutters (almost like hedge trimmers). From there the ribs are pulled further back to allow a better look into the torso of the patient.

Usually (if needed that is) an assistant would run tests or take measurements and weights of certain organs and other bodily fluids while listening to opera or some other music which focused the mortician while detaching himself or herself from the sometimes horrific sights. Yet I preferred to work alone and in silence. Any music would insult the patient who now lifeless had only one way to speak: through a messenger. That messenger would read the patient's life and tell the story to others who either inquired or needed closure. I was that link and I held my work in the highest esteem possible.

Yet I digress.

In my findings I noticed some odd peculiarities about my patient. While everything appeared to be normal, her stomach was half the size of a woman her age. Upon opening it and seeing the contents I found only acids, water, and a mushy pale substance which under further observation and upon finding a few salt crystals, I understood to be saltine crackers. How odd that the last meal a young woman ate before dying was only a handful of salted crackers. Yet I also discovered something else of importance. The liver, expected to be a healthy pink to match her other internal features, was faded to a sickly yellow and dotted with faded almost opaque spots of pale purple. Tsk, tsk, such a shame for a young life to be drowned in a frothy drink.

After my inquisition was satisfied I returned the organs into her chest, placed the ribs back in place then stitched the patient back up using thick surgical thread. Afterward I catered to the careful workings of embalming. Within a few hours (depending on the body and rate of draining and pumping) the patient was ready to be cleaned once more then dressed in attire chosen by the family and dolled up with much makeup to recreate the image the patient held in life.

Later that week at the funeral (if a mortician chooses to attend which I always did) the family was introduced to their beloved yet departed relative. In this case the pretty young model was grieved by two sisters who had lost their mother a year prior and grew up fatherless, only to be raised by their elder sister's looks and model popularity. The dedication each spoke of when referring to their older sister reinforced the image I had: a respectable young woman making quick cash through modeling where perfection (and a slim waist which would explain the light saltine crackers as her last meal) was needed. Even my suspicions of a pet were confirmed as I learned of her volunteered efforts at the animal shelter. However I knew the truth...one party too many (after seeing her liver I knew there were _many_) and the young woman died of alcohol poisoning. Although the young girls would be passed to relatives I was simply glad that the young woman was able to connect with her siblings one last time.

It was times like these that I knew my job was worthwhile. The long, late hours in the graveyard shift kept me sleeping through most of the day but I found a sort of connection with my patients as they would never again see the sunlight. My job was an odd but necessary one, especially living in a city like Gotham. Although I didn't work in the pathology department of forensics I handled smaller cases of accidental, suicide, and natural deaths. If I found anything darker in the bloody passageways of the deceased I reported to the police and sometimes was allowed to continue the process under the supervision of another Forensic Pathologist. Truthfully I knew as much as the professionals did yet lived happily with my lower station. Plenty of times I was offered a promotion or transfer but each time I denied, knowing my happiness was greater within my smaller funeral parlor.

Although each body (or everybody if you wanted a bit of morbid humor) had a story to tell I preferred the mundane and natural lives of the citizens of Gotham. I could map out an entire life, each wrong choice, or daily habit apparent in the blank skin-like canvas coloured by the many shades and walks of life. The blur of city life and urban living amazed me and I found each patient a special treat.

Speaking of which I had another patient to see to...Now what story will _you_ tell? I thought looking down at the middle aged man only partially covered by a white linen cloth. I reassuringly stroked the ridged edge of the forceps' handle as I hovered over the discoloured tissue of skin...tsk, tsk another car accident...

"Eh, Revis wanna grab some lunch?" a voice shattered my world of peace and silence as I quickly stepped away from my patient.

Did no one truly understand what my work entitled? Each patient that was under my care deserved the uttermost respect and unyielding diligence on my part.

"Revis?" the voice of my too nosy assistant repeated. Ugh, he wasn't drinking on the job _again_, was he?

I shook my head then without another word I turned back to my work expecting him to leave...which he did _after_ loitering around for a few unnecessary moments. Stupid drunkard.

The dead I honoured and understood...the living I could do without.


	4. Chapter 2: Nights and Terrors

**Ello! Minion here! First off, I'd like to thank everyone who has reviewed! I cannot truly express the motivation and (dare I say) slight fear I feel upon reading each review. I can only hope to meet, if not surpass, your expectations. Truthfully, I've been having a serious bout of self-doubt concerning the next couple of chapters. While the entire story is finished I am continuously making alterations throughout the story and I will say that these revisions have vastly improved the chapters I now post; however, my worries lie else-where. **

**Revis, as I've said before, is the focus of the story (for now) and I can only hope that she will interest you all until she is reunited with Dr. Crane again (which will happen in about~ 6-7 chapters, depending on the interpetation of the word 'reunited'. But please do not fear (not yet, anyway ^-^) for Revis will take you on an adventure that will leave you intrigued and (hopefully) chilled. **

**Also I would like to explain that Revis is a character heavily influenced by myself. That is to say, I have suffered from various _'bouts of insanity' _and I use those moments of anxiety, depression, and hallucinations for my writing. Everything that Revis suffers from or will experience, so have I on at least one level; therefore, I would appreicate your trust in my writing and by association, my experiences-so in other words, please do not call my examples of psychosis, anxiety, depression, etc 'unrealistic'. **

**So once more, thank you everyone who has decided to grace my humble and demented story with your attention. Also I do not in any, way, shape or form own Batman/Batman Begins or anything affiliated with it. With that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

As the final **click** of the stapler sounded, I put the paperwork into my file. When not speaking for or listening to the dead, paperwork filled up every spare hour around my funeral parlor. One would be surprised how much effort really goes into caring for the dead. Aside from the presentation derived from embalming, the dues, plot space, casket design, engravings, flowers, church services, mourning groups, urns, and other additional options the total sum added up into the high ten thousands. After all, a funeral is the greatest occasion in life.

Yet only one thing required more attention than funeral preparations: paperwork, paperwork, and more paperwork. When necessary, morticians often pushed the paperwork to their assistants yet I refused. I was the one to interpret the life of the deceased and so I'd be the one to share the story. In truth, each fact I learned was a piece of the message. What sort of courier would I be if I switched off halfway through the delivery of said message? Especially with the importance of my cargo, I could never risk a misinterpretation or lacking reception at the incompetent hands of another.

Yet due to my insistent behavior, I often worked later than my shift required. In fact I was far behind in other _human _necessities such as sleep_._ Although taking into account the recent investigation within Arkham, sleep shouldn't be a concern. As if my late hours didn't already hinder my quest to fully honour Mr. Robinson, the patient which introduced me to Arkham, I was also a bit stumped as how to further my research in my patient...I suppose for now I'd leave it to those within the actual investigation despite my impulse to take matters into my own hands. Perhaps if they managed to shed some light upon the situation (for once), then the scattered memories and odd circumstance my patient held would be easier to understand.

I sighed in frustration, feeling the wear of life as it oppressively crushed any chance for peace.

Yet in a way, I was granted a small reprieve. If I was unable to direct my efforts where I direly needed to, I could at least try to use this time to enjoy the rare moment of silence away from my assistant. He, for some reason, took a great deal of his time pestering me and imposing on my hours to gain some meager form of communication running between us. What a hopeless fool, I had no time to waste on him.

Speaking of which, I should be on my way by now...

I stood, closing the small notebook I had been reviewing throughout my shift in hopes of finding a sudden insight into my patient's predicament. Despite Mr. Robinson's peculiar case, I used the notebook for all my patients. While writing in small, painfully small, handwriting that slanted oddly in different ink throughout the pages, I gave deep thought and remembrance to each patient. Over all my years of working I had completed almost fourteen journals. Yet never before had a patient puzzled me to this extent. Was it a factor of his mentality...or those of his caregivers?

I shook my head to clear myself of useless questions as I pushed my rolling stool into the space under my desk which was bare of any decoration other than my name plate "Ms. Revis" and a few other office necessities. Unlike my coworkers I had no need to 'lighten up' my desk with personal baubles and photographs. I knew professionalism was merely a part of my job and I devoted my entire time while here to working.

Breaking my line of musings, I lifted my black, detective styled trench coat (with sleeves slightly too short) from the coat rack and slowly put it on, savoring the smooth lining as it brushed against my skin. Out of habit I reached into the deep contours of my trench coat's right pocket as I lifted the sheathed blade out before attaching it to my black woven belt atop my slacks. Slightly self conscious I evened out the thin gossamer scarf that looped around my neck and accented my grey and black ruffled top. With a few more adjustments I was ready to leave.

After successfully evading Kelly, the night sectary, on my way outside, I breathed in the crisp air of the lingering Gotham night. While I felt an urge to check the time, I didn't trust the streets of the city, especially in this degree of darkness. Just as I turned onto my street, ever so thankful for the five minute walk from the funeral parlor, a speeding police car dashed past me, sirens blaring. On reflex my fingers twitched towards my knife but I held myself back.

Hmm...I wonder if I'll have a new patient tomorrow night?

Shaking such thoughts from my mind I walked up to my apartment complex, avoiding the pot holes and uneven chucks of asphalt that made up the parking lot.

Gotham sure has seen better times...

Unwilling to become further distracted I walked up four flights of stairs, and then unlocked my door to enter my dark silent apartment.

I locked the door once inside, all _three_ locks, then went through my usual ritual of discarding bits of unnecessary clothing along my way to the kitchen despite the slight impairment of sight. Feeling around my table which was the only piece of furniture I had the _possibility_ of running into, I then flicked on the light-switch, blinking rapidly against the sudden change in light. Without further thought I engaged in the second part of my ritual which entailed the preparation of my Earl Grey tea.

Idly I glanced at the clock: 4am.

Oh, I'm home early tonight.

While waiting for the water to boil I pressed the power button of my tiny TV with the intent of watching the news. I shook my head as I heard of the latest bank heist and other outrages throughout Gotham. Well living here did prove to be an eye opening ordeal...

Glancing at my tea I readied my large mug with the tea bag already in place and carefully poured the hot water into the mug only splashing my index finger. After setting the mug down to better suckle my burned finger, I turned the pot upside down and cooled it off with cold water before placing the, now cool, pot in the dish drainer beside the sink. I wiped my hands off on a kitchen towel then set the timer for 4 minutes.

"Recently we have reports of a dangerous terrorist identified as _The Joker_, being admitted to Arkham, an institute for the criminally insane. It is said that he will undergo a psychological evaluation to determine whether or not he will be transferred to Blackgate Penitentiary. Meanwhile people out on the streets are crying for justice. Many believe that The Joker is _faking_ insanity to avoid his sentencing. I don't know about you, Bob, but I believe that a man who decides to _terrorize_ innocent citizens, belongs in a nuthouse."

Suddenly a shrill ringing cut through the new report and brought my attention to my tea. I switched off the TV fed up with the media and threw out the tea bag while adding two spoons of sugar and a large dollop of honey to my tea before stirring.

I leaned against the counter thinking over the world and how much times have changed. Of course my soothing tea warmed me while sharpening my mind enough to awaken my more indulgent side…perhaps today I would venture out to the bookstore? I had a day off so there shouldn't be any outside interference...although I should use that time to tend to Mr. Robinson's case.

I finished the last of my tea before quickly cleaning the mug and spoon then placed both in the dish drainer to dry. After cleaning my hands again (a habit I picked up from the morgue) I sleepily made my way to my bedroom feeling the lightening of the sky outside my living room blinds as I turned off the light in the kitchen.

Not bothering to take off my coat, I collapsed atop my bed's scarlet and black flowered duvet then burrowed into unconsciousness.

…

Darkness choked me. Heat seared my lungs. Sweat stung my eyes...

I was awake and sweltering.

With clumsy, sleepy movements I somehow got my arms free of my too hot trench coat and rolled away. There was only two things wrong with this action. First of all while rolling, my hand pressed on my gossamer scarf and tightened the molten noose around my neck which began to choke me. Secondly as I was almost on my back I realized I had only air to support me and promptly fell on the floor. For a moment I lay there in shock but then began to struggle with the too tight scarf until I tore it from my neck and lay gasping for air.

Well good morning to you...

I felt grungy with my damp hair and sweaty skin yet I took a moment to ground myself to reality.

I hated this nightmare...

It wasn't my dream I was referring to, for most nights I simply _didn't_ dream. It was waking up that terrified me. Knowing I was alive brought my mind into a whiplash. I was content to slumber with a lapse of memory and eternal darkness. Yet when the veil was lifted, when light and life filled my senses, I felt both shock and disappointment.

Yet I digress.

I stood then proceeded to the bathroom in order to begin my morning ritual. No matter the 'refreshing shower' and new clothes, I still avoided looking into the mirror for too long...Nothing would change how I appeared and what did it matter? It's not like I could go back to bed, roll around, and look any different when I got up...

Sighing I grabbed my keys, double checking to make sure I still had my knife which I somehow _didn't_ cut myself with while sleeping. Some would think that bringing a weapon to go to a bookstore was overreacting. But in a city like Gotham anyone would benefit from concealed weapons, illegal or not.

I left my apartment, locking it tight despite the irking glare of the low sun as it mocked me with the few heated glares its dying rays were capable of. I looked around at the somewhat dingy surroundings that made up Gotham's lower class, noting its nonexistent 'beauty'. Rather Gotham was too grey to be much of anything, let alone pleasing to the eye. In fact grey was a fitting word to describe Gotham: grey streets, grey buildings, grey trashcans reflecting the dim street lights (or every other due to the city's budget cuts), and grey newspaper remains littering the grey sidewalks, blown by the wind from the grey clouds...

Of course Gotham's night life and criminal record compensated for the lack of colour. _That_ was most definitely a **colourful** scene, with **colourful** people, and **colourful** events that normally occurred under the dark gaps of light...Yet ever since Harvey Dent got himself killed, all the criminals were back out on the street—then again Batman, the masked vigilante of the city, went rouge. So now the city remained as, if not more, colourful than ever.

While most people either supported Batman (before the murders) or believed him to be a criminal I held neither view and that hasn't changed. I worked with the dead, the living usually had no meaning to me unless they brought about new patients. Of course I still had humanity yet I preferred those quiet and still rather than that loud and _breathing_ populace.

Still my neighborhood was a long shot from the Narrows and _that_ was something to be thankful for.

Taking in a deep breath over the pounding of my heart I readied myself to enter the second-hand bookstore. Without allowing myself further thought, although my breath never seemed to fill my lungs fully, I opened the door and quietly walked inside.

The store itself was nothing imposing.

The books along the shelves had definitely seen better times yet that added to the quaint charm and mystique of the place. Among the arching bookcases in rows and rows, winding a labyrinth of old paper and secrets, it was easy to believe some archaic book of ancient tales lied hidden for an unsuspecting customer to stumble upon...

No, it wasn't the store, itself, that imposed a threat, it was the employee. Just a single woman, not particularly tall or remarkable in any way but still upon first sight my skin became flushed and I felt panicking prickles of pain along my chest and arms. I hadn't figured out how to breathe regularly yet so I alternated between taking in a large mouthful of air and holding it still in my lungs against my thrashing heartbeat only to quickly exhale and repeat the process. Although I had already passed the front counter I felt the eyes of the employee piercing my skin through the shelves and slipping in between my ribs to grip my heart in terror.

I tried to calm my erratic breathing but my fear prevailed until I forced myself to read the titles, searching for something that would catch my eye. Aside from the few stray thoughts of the woman at the counter or the lingering worry of other customers, my heart gradually calmed and I fell into the rhythm of book hunting.

Each cover drew me closer with it's faded binding or half-peeled, silver print. I constantly reached for a book only to pull away at the last second in order to stroke the binding, merely amusing each random urge I felt to pick and choose from the selection of books in front of me. Nothing was organized and everything was everywhere. The books jutted out at odd angles, some seeming too long while others barely stood out being so overshadowed by much larger books. My favorite to see were the short, squat ones, the books that held a thousand or so pages in small print. No matter the title I loved to take the pudgy book and skim the topic, drawn by the challenge of reading such a monstrous amount of pages.

Roaming from isle to isle, steadily collecting an impressive pile of books, I knew I would have to leave soon if I were to be able to carry all my findings. Pushing down my lust for more books I struggled with my selection, trying desperately to not let my fingers slip from under the pile. As I approached the counter, much too preoccupied by balancing my books than to worry as much as I should have, the employee widened her eyes and asked me about my day.

The harmless question caught me off guard and I settled for a false smile and a timid reply of "Good, thank you" which allowed her to turn her attention back to the cash register.

Damn, why did I have to get so many books? It was taking her forever to ring them all up! The more time passed, the more nervous and on edge I felt. Suddenly the lights were too bright and the room felt odd like the walls were shifting.

Damn, I knew I should have worn my glasses today. My breath caught in my throat and I swallowed to try to relieve it...which didn't work. I kept a smile on my face although most the effort behind it had shriveled up and died in some god-forsaken corner of my psyche.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, she asked for the toll: $58:66. I paid the fee with a fifty and ten yet when she finished the transaction and handed me a sturdy brown bag, giving me my receipt and change, her fingers brushed over mine causing me to flinch and spill the change over the counter.

My face flamed red and I felt my heart pound in my throat yet I stammered an apology and picked up the change, quickly stuffing it in my bag and hurriedly gave my dues as I raced out the door. In what seemed like eons, I was met with the frigid air of the street which quickly became obscured with my cold breath.

That was too close...too much...

Thankfully I didn't get much of a feel from her and the shoppe wasn't very popular, so there wasn't much residual energy...but it could have been a lot worse. Objects were easier to block out unless the emotional ties of it were too strong to ignore. People, on the other hand, were something _far_ more dangerous for with only one touch their entire psyche was unveiled. I tried to filter it and block out the sensations...but I never learned to do it entirely.

The skill developed over the years and despite my struggles it turned into something I had no control over. It was cruel enough to live in a world infested by careless humans...but to see, to _feel, _as they did...that was a penance no one deserved. Humanity was corrupt and I had no desire to bear witness to its ever changing, ever _malicious _deceptions.

However, the ability became useful when working with the deceased. The dead were absolved of any fault for the moment they died their sins held no vice. No longer did they breed hatred, sow fear into the world, and then laugh, viciously indifferent to all the suffering they had caused...No, the dead had repented and from their newer peace I was able to learn of their mistakes and see the state of mankind.

Suddenly, a great clamor sounded from the alley by the store.

In an all too terrifying rush I was reminded of where I was and realized now was _not_ the time to ponder thoughts better left unthought in the first place. Without hesitating, I hurried back to my apartment, walking past the annoying, neon lights of the bar my assistant continuously tried to coerce me into, and tried to keep my senses on my surroundings and safely away from my mind.

Awhile later, I crossed onto my street, then into my complex, and practically ran up the stairs, eager to be enveloped in my safe haven once more. When my bag was on my table and my door securely locked, I paused to catch my breath.

After double checking the locks and accepting that I was once more safe, I then journeyed to the kitchen to make something quick for dinner, despite the unnerving anxiety that ripped my appetite to miserable shreds. Hastily I made sandwich of a whole wheat bagel, cheese, and ham. I ate quickly, not thinking about what I was eating, then chugged down two more glasses of water.

_Definitely_ too much excitement for the night.

Shaking my head I lugged the bag of books into my bedroom while switching the kitchen light off and my bedroom's red lamp on. Once I was bathed in the familiar glow, I shed my clothing and quickly changed into sweats and a tank top before cuddling in a large blanket, intent on exploring the unfamiliar worlds of each book late into the night.


	5. Chapter 3: My Dear Assistant

**Ello! Minion here! I would like to thank everyone for reviewing ^-^ you all keep me on my toes in hopes of pleasing you while filling my soul with radiant joy! Although for this chapter I have a few notes to make...**

***sighs* First off, I want to personally apologize for the horrid state of this chapter. I wrote most of this story about a year ago and I reassure you all my writing has greatly improved since then yet no matter how much I glare at this chapter as I edit and revise, I cannot make it as wonderful as I wanted. So to make up for such a failure, I combined chapters '3 & 4' into this one. The original '3rd chapter' was painfully short and a bit confusing, so I added the next chapter to it-speaking of which, I apologize for its adruptness. I edited out a large section in which I gave an overly detailed explanation in a sad attempt to 'add realistic problem solving skills' XXD so while it seems a bit choppy the yummy details will be explained later on! Hopefully this combination chapter (oh how it shames me x.x) will please all of you until next week. **

**On another note, I hope that all of you will notice that within my earlier chapters something was lurking within Revis' mind...it may have disguised itself as a cold detachment, absentmindedness, or some other factor but now Revis' true colours begin to show...**

**Also I do not in any way, shape, or form own Batman/Batman Begins although I do own Revis ^-^. With that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

All too soon the sun had set and I found myself frustratingly awake on my plush mushroom chair. How early did I stay up? Ten am? No, I think it was closer to eleven...

I yawned and rose on sore limbs, stretching my cramped muscles as I thought over the remainder of my night. I had a shorter shift tonight: 8pm-3am and I knew I wouldn't have much work...

Even so I felt an almost irrational yearning to be at the morgue. I missed the feel of the scalpel as I made the y-incision; I longed for the smell of disinfectant and preservatives; I ached to be immersed in the the silent and still company of the deceased.

Truthfully, I preferred a calm yet constant motion or routine within my life and while I enjoyed reading the hours away it often left me feeling disoriented from the time lapses. Besides, being away from the funeral parlor worried me.

I rubbed my eyes and yawned lazily then journeyed to the kitchen my mind only focused on my tea. Amid boiling the water my skin felt tight and itchy as I fought to control my breathing.

Why was I so agitated this morning?

Although I hadn't made much progress in my pondering, the shrill ring of the timer (did I already ready my tea?) sounded, breaking me from my mental plight. After throwing away the wet tea bag, I automatically reached for the milk yet before I touched the handle my hand flinched back.

When had I gotten out the milk?

I touched the handle, only to find it cold as if I had just taken it out. Suddenly, the toaster shot up revealing two slices of lightly toasted bread, ready to be placed onto the waiting plate and spread with the marmalade which was already open with a butter-knife inside the jar.

I swallowed, feeling my paranoia rise as the events reminded me all too well of my more unstable years—No, I fixed myself. I'm just tired, that's all...

I finished flavouring my English Breakfast tea with milk and honey then put away everything in its respectable place. I sat at the table and tried to convince myself I had simply stayed up too late— It didn't work...

The clock on the wall of the kitchen read 6:30. I stood uneasily then proceeded to wash my dishes and take a shower. Then later I'd sit back down and read for an hour or so until I was ready to leave for work—

It didn't work...

Upon returning the plate to the sink, my hands shook terribly causing me to drop the plate where it then shattered upon impact with the floor. I screamed in surprise then brought my hands to my mouth in a failed attempt to silence the already fading echo. Numbly I tried to think over what had happened. Between the lingering sound of breaking ceramic and the shock of my disrupted schedule, I felt unsure of what to do...I suppose cleaning up would help. Yet when I kneeled down on the floor I noticed slight bleeding on the back of my hands.

Blood...There was blood on my hands..._My_ blood...I was _bleeding_. The sight of open cuts, despite its superficial nature...the slight flow of blood...the ache of finally being complete...It was too much to control.

Without thinking I rushed to the bedroom and picked up the blade I normally wore...The wickedly sharp curve of the blade made me smile as I brought it to the soft skin of my inner elbow. Without restraint I slowly dragged the blade across my skin, letting it dig into the flesh, meeting slight resistance before slicing through eagerly. A strange prickling sensation followed the blade yet when I lifted the metal from my skin there was no warning when an overwhelming wave of heat and pain shot up my arm.

Every possible voice in my head screamed at me to stop, to prevent myself from falling back into previous addictions, but I was beyond reasoning. I began to crave more as the burning faded. I didn't want the fire—No, that was too much like the energy of the living. Instead I wanted the cold, calculated pain as I slowly sliced my arm.

And so I did.

Again and again I cut on my arm, feeling the blood—Oh how I missed the sight of my own blood!— roll down my skin, tickling almost. I only stopped when my head felt heavy, woozy even, and my arms radiated with a searingly bright pain that was no longer pleasurable. My arms were oozing blood at a regular pace although I was still able to see some ivory skin underneath.

Knowing I'd have to go to work soon, I stood then fell and barely caught myself against the wall. When I pulled away from the pale drywall, I noticed smears of scarlet which made me laugh despite the fact that I knew I'd have to clean it later, along with the plate on the floor in the kitchen.

Scarily enough the next movements passed too quickly for me to remember.

At one moment I was flipping on the light switch of the bathroom and the next I was turning on the lamp of my office. I a bolt of terror struck me when I realized the time was 7:50, I had new clothes on that covered my arms (I rolled up my sleeves to check that the cuts were still there), and my hair was wet.

This could not keep happening.

I've heard of self hypnosis, zoning out while the body functions on its own but never before had I experienced it to this degree. If this were to continue...why I had no idea what to expect. It was all too surreal...too much like my past—No, I wouldn't go there.

"Revis?"

I whipped around quickly to see—blood. Blood rolling down his face, a portion of his skull removed to reveal a pulsing brain now exposed to the air. His skin seemed pale and flushed all at once quite a feat with his darker skin. Yet it was the blood that dripped from in between the shredded skin of his arms, so torn they resembled streamers, that captivated me.

"Revis? Are you alright?"

I felt a hand to my forehead before I flinched back and fell on the floor—

_Damn that bitch...she was cheating on me wasn't she? Then she decided to hide away _our_ daughter as if _I_ was a source of danger? _

_I put down the beer bottle in my hand and staggered to my feet. She'd pay for that—_

_Community service my ass, as if I _wanted_ to parade around in the sun digging in dirt. Damn the court for getting to me before I got to __**her—**_

I broke the trail of energy that I received upon coming into contact with him...I knew he had a drinking problem...but to this extent?

Blushing profusely, I looked up and noticed my assistant peering down at me with a mix of concern and pity...

Liar, he was filled with hate and deceit.

I rose and nodded, mumbling some excuse of not sleeping enough.

He didn't seem to buy it for he took me by my trench coat's arm and began to all but drag me to the parking lot. I would have struggled but as I moved I felt one of my cuts stretch, I figured attracting attention to those injuries would be unwise.

He nodded, his mouth moving, but no sound followed...instead I focused on the way his face moved without skin...wouldn't the air be painful to the exposed muscle? How would the blood flow be altered in the process of removing the flesh?

I once had heard that a person would die before being skinned halfway but if the skinning was prolonged and the skin was cared for appropriately, without allowing the skin to try to heal, or—If the skinning was done from the feet up, how would the blood flow affect the body?

The brain knows the main area of it, torso and head (although his liver was probably shot to hell), were essential, leaving everything else as an option...So then would the brain send signals to the heart to stop pumping blood there?

Then again the arteries would carry it anyway...Unless as a defense the body would clot the passageways? Then how would that affect the muscle and nerves?

He shook my shoulders slightly asking me again, "Where do you live?"

I immediately told him my address, too fascinated with his appearance to protest.

Soon I was being led to a car and placed inside the passenger seat. The night sky flickered in and out of focus as I tried to keep my eyes open yet my head lolled to my shoulders. Suddenly, he stopped the car, exited it, and then returned to the passenger seat so as to place his arms around my waist to support me.

How dare he!

If I could see straight I'd have pushed him away, uncertain balance atop the sudden appearance of stairs be damned! Although, I was thankful to the fabric between us which efficiently blocked his energy from mine, despite its inability to repel his heavy bleeding—Yet how does someone with streamer like skin carry me, let alone hold a beer bottle?

As we neared the door I slumped against it. Faintly I heard him curse then I felt him check the pockets of both my coat and pants without giving pause to the weapon on my belt. Finally he found my key and let himself in.

At this point he was practically carrying me for my own legs had turned to Jell-o. Cautiously he laid me down on the futon that served as my couch, then closed the door and began to pace about the sparse room. Pausing in his actions I noticed his gaze fell toward the kitchen where the broken plate lied.

"Did you hurt yourself?" he asked me, although the room was going in and out, getting blurrier with each blink—thoroughly hindering my ability to respond.

He came up to me and picked my hands up with his own—

_Memories of summer: the green glow of grass after the long blades had been trimmed...The satisfaction of creating life when I worked around death...The small hope of a green plant breaking through the moist soil..._

_Maybe this community service thing wasn't so bad...maybe Lynda would be able to come back someday and meet—_

He turned over my hands to look for injuries, oblivious to the sights I saw.

"Christ Revis...where's the bathroom? I need to clean these out before they get infected."

I mumbled something incoherent but he seemed to understand because he began walking in the general direction of the bathroom, leaving me to my muddled thoughts...or was it puddled by the lies he kept brewing?

"Shit!"

He suddenly marched back and held up a bloodied knife...Oh.

"Let me see your arms..." he said in a low voice; however, I was having trouble comprehending everything but I knew he couldn't see what was under my sleeves. And so when he neared me, I rolled over so I was huddled into the bend of the futon.

"Revis..." he spoke gently in a warning.

Yet when I only grunted in response, he grasped my trench coat and pulled until my back was pressed against his chest as he kneeled on the floor. Before I could move to push him away, he shrugged down my trench coat and rolled up my sleeves to reveal the deep, scarlet marks imbedded in my skin. He swore once more then proceeded to lift me up so I sat leaning against the futon. He disappeared briefly and returned with a first aid kit I had bought upon first moving here.

Strangely enough, while his expertise lied in the dead, he bandaged me with as much care and efficiency as any doctor would have.

Tch, he probably had experience from taking care of his wife after he beat her...What was his excuse? 'Sorry honey, you know I had to'

It was pathetic...It was disgusting. He didn't change with community service, he evolved into a darker creature of corruption...and now he had his eyes on me.

"It's okay Revis, well actually it's not but don't worry okay? I want to help you but I never thought I'd met a twenty four year old who cut herself," he sighed, "Look Revis I really like you and I'd like to get to know you better as well...but first you need rest."

He got up and went back to my bedroom then returned with blankets. My eyes drooped but managed to stay open long enough to snuggle into the comfort of the soft fleece. Distantly I heard him leave my studio apartment but not before taking the spare key on the rack near the door and locking the door from the outside.

...

I awoke to the aroma of minestrone soup.

The lazy sunset lit the room weakly through the open curtains, allowing the cool breeze of approaching night to enter the room. I must have made a noise because suddenly my assistant entered the recess of my bedroom, carrying a bowl of steaming soup.

I sat up, wincing at my sore arms, before glancing down at the disgusting, white glow of the bandages...Oh, I had almost forgotten.

"I made you some soup," he said smiling softly...

Oh how I hated that smile. That smile filled with lies, little maggots squirming through his dark lips to consume what bit of decency he had left as well as infect those around him—leeching from them as a parasite would a host.

"Get out," I said but my throat was so hoarse it sounded like garbled croaking.

Instead of listening, he placed the soup and a spoon on my bedside table then lifted a water bottle to my lips. Grudgingly I accepted it while ignoring the pain that sharply flared upon stretching my still sensitive wounds.

After a few long sips, I looked at him again while bottling the container, "Get out."

"What? I'm just trying to help you."

Help me? You can't even help yourself...you never tried to help Lynda. I know your secrets, I've seen your dark ways. From those two moments of contact I learned all I'll ever need to know of you.

I moved to the side of the bed and stood, swaying at first, before I glared harshly, "Get out."

"Revis—"

"No," I said harshly yet retained the same level of voice, "**Get. Out.**"

He backed away but his action only angered me further.

Damn that vile creature!

I grabbed onto the first thing my fingers touched and rushed forward, causing him to flinch from shock. Yet before he could recover and subdue me I kneed him, as hard as I could, between his legs.

I was too blinded by rage to care if he would ever have children again—He didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve his second chance. He was only a stain on society...He didn't deserve anything.

How dare he think that he was allowed to rebuild ties within the world? How dare he bother me? His gall as he invaded my space, believing that he, of all people, could 'help' me!

No, he was wrong. Everything about him was wrong—that voice, his too soft eyes, that smile...his confusing motives.

In a natural reaction he doubled over, mouth agape in an expression of surprised pain. While his mouth was open I shoved the (spoon?) down his throat. His jaw reflexively closed, biting the bandages but that didn't last as he tried to receive more oxygen and opened his mouth wider, allowing me to push the spoon farther down his esophagus.

He made chortling noises, similar to wheezing, coupled with a squeaking sound that I associated with hyperventilating. Phlegm and gobs of saliva flew up, hitting both my bandages and my snarling face.

Yet during the whole ordeal he continued to try to pull my arm out. Thankfully the bandages caught his panicked blows just as they blocked the blunt force of his teeth as he alternatively clenched his jaw, allowing me to dig the edge of the spoon deeper into his throat despite the pain.

As a last resort he bit me once more yet his jaw _didn't_ relax.

I hissed in pain, my face flushing, but I continued to hold him as he choked. Soon his efforts becoming weaker and weaker, then a minute or so passed before he went limp. Unwilling to become fooled by his deceptive behavior, I kept the spoon buried within his throat and began counting...

178...179...180 seconds. It would be enough even though he never was.

With burning resentment I detached myself from him. For a moment I stood, unsure of what to do until I remembered I would only have a few hours, at best, before rigor mortis set in.

Not wanting to waste time, I went to the bathroom and undid my bandages, planning to dispose of the scratchy fabric later. Yet while inside the bathroom I decided to clean myself of evidence and the crawling sensation I felt every time I thought of him.

Yet strangely I was calm.

Perhaps my experience with the dead masked any terror I _would_ have felt with a dead body in the next room. Except this time _I_ was the one who had killed him—Well that ruins the challenge of examining the body—

Wait, no!

I shouldn't think that! The reaction I _didn't_ feel was due to the shock—right? Or maybe because he was just worthless scum that didn't deserve life?

Shaking useless thoughts from my mind, I dried off and walked with my towel around me, careful not to touch the body as I made my way to my closet. I changed into new clothes, this time of a _coloured_ variety so as to not draw attention to myself as I would have with my usual black attire. After pulling my hair back tightly, I carefully thought of how to transport him from my fourth story building to—to where?

Where would I move him? How would I dispose of him?

I quickly ran through my options:

Water? No, I hadn't car to use for transportation.

Dismembering? No, too messy and the odd smell would attract attention.

Acid? No, it would take too much time.

Burning? No, the rancid odor and lack of space would ruled that out...

Ugh! Why couldn't he have drunken himself into an early death?

—Wait the bar...it was next to the railroad tracks just across the street _and_ across from a bar. Who's to say he didn't get drunk and pass out on the tracks when a train happened to come by—Bam! Instant disfiguration.

But how to drag—no, not drag that would bruise the body. But then how to get him out of the building and over a street without anyone noticing? Now it was...7:39 according to the clock on my bedside table. As night was fast approaching I would have to move quickly in order to put to use whatever means I would decide upon.

…

The train shot by, loudly blowing its whistle which both scared and reassured me...When it had past, I exhaled and gulped in more air, desperate to escape the hellish night as soon as possible.

I tried to control my breathing but only managed to worsen my stress as I speedily returned to my apartment. Minutes past as I tried to keep myself focused on breathing—Ha! What a hopeless endeavor—until I was able to make a mad rush toward my apartment complex, up the stairs, and into my apartment. Once inside, I panted desperately, disbelieving I had actually killed a man and disposed of his body without serious consequence toward myself—Then again I would have to wait to see if the latter proved true.

One thing was for sure, next time I'd pick a better location—wait, next time?

No, tonight was something I had not intention of ever repeating_—he_ _deserved_ _it. _

No, it was self defense for surely he'd come after me and try to meddle with my life.

And now he was dead.

I felt guilt rise where before it hadn't existed.

I-I—how could I?

I felt sick to my stomach, repulsed with what I did—_what he did. _

Sick of what—_what he life he wasted._

Sick of the person I had become—_the horrible person he was._

Anger filled my veins once more.

How could I not have killed him? He _deserved_ it.

No man is free of fault and that's why humanity must die. Of course humans do a well enough offing each other in their petty affairs but none truly appreciated their mortality. No one understood their meager place in the world—But I understood mine...and I would gladly remind them of their fragility in the face of fate. A smile lit up my face with my sudden epiphany.

While I had spent my life speaking for the dead... now I could give death itself a voice.


	6. Chapter 4: The Killing Urge

**Ello! Minion here! First I would l like to thank everyone for reviewing ^-^ to know I have caring and devoted readers makes me explode with sugary, toxic joy! Yet for this chaper I confess I had a bit of difficulty deciding if I should once more merge chapters or not. On one hand, I feel that the second chapter would be too short but it has a sort of poetic touch that I think deserves its own attention. Then again, later on I devote an entire short chapter with great poetic touch although it serves its own plot developing purposes. Eh, I think I'll just merge the chapters. You all deserve the extra amount of writing, 'poetic touch' be dammed. While I enjoy the writing of 'chapter 5' I'm not so entrhalled that I would torture you all with a sucession of painfully short chapters. Also I'm very eager to move the intro of the story along...So after this chapter there are only 2-3 more until our good doctor and our demented mortician are reunited! Oh and I utterly fail with police interrogations, my friends assisted me as much as she was able but I have no pride in the interrogation scene-oh, would that be a spolier? Opps! XXD **

**Also I do not in any way, shape, or form own Batman/Batman Begins with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

The following night I came into work at nine o'clock wearing my usual trench coat and some variation of dark clothes underneath. I adjusted my glasses and opened the door to my office, ready to go over the checklist I had stapled to the wall.

The previous night I cleaned the house extensively: vacuuming, dusting, cleaning the bathroom, making sure there was no blood on the walls from days before, disposing of my broken plate and whatever evidence remained in my house. I even spent two hours with a pair of tweezers picking the gravel out of my lightly coloured pair of shoes. Yes, I was paranoid but hopefully it would pay off.

Shrugging off pestering thoughts I checked the paper stapled to the wall.

Hmm...Two bodies, four cases of paperwork...not too bad of a night. First body: dog mauling. The second: unknown?

Well that would be an interesting one.

I removed my trench coat and hung it on the coat rack of the joint office, checking to ensure that my knife was inside the trench coat's pocket and not anywhere noticeable. Next I walked out of the joint office, toward my section of the mortuary where I conducted autopsies or any other workings over a body.

I nodded to Barry who was also on this shift, then I washed my hands and donned my elbow high, latex gloves along with the rest of my garb. At times the ritualistic motions bored me and I found myself questioning its use. Yet one night, when I needed to weigh a brain with a tumor, the flesh slipped and fell on my shoe covers...it was then I learned that shoe covers as well as the other protective gear were there for a reason.

At ease I walked over to the wall where we kept the bodies that hadn't been seen to and those that had. I opened one to find—my assistant?

I paled and backed up, feeling panic rush through me at almost a staggering rate. I swallowed and looked over to Barry who I passed while walking in.

"Bar-Barry?" I stammered.

He looked over, surprised I called out to him when we normally preferred to work in silence.

"Revis?" he asked in a confused voice.

I swallowed, "Why is...? Where...? Look in here."

He raised a blonde eyebrow and walked up to me with a confident gait. After serving in the military and facing one too many deaths, Barry found himself attracted to the funeral parlor where he had high hopes of to giving closure to those, like him, who have suffered losses. At times like this—not that there were any times when my murdered assistant appeared in my morgue—he was calm and collected, perceiving everything with a sharp eye.

He looked at the body before his eyes widened comically, "Jesus..."

"No, not Jesus, Mr. Varner. It's Micheal."

A man in uniform strolled up to us with his partner just behind him.

"Ms. Revis, correct?" the first one asked.

I nodded mutely still confused and looked once more at the body...

Damn it was all _his_ fault.

"Hello Ms. Revis, I'm Officer Brown and this is my partner Officer Burrows. If you'd like to come with us we'd like to ask you a few questions," he paused before addressing Barry, "We'll come back for you too, Mr. Varner."

I nodded again before removing my gloves and took a deep breath, only allowing my hands shake when I wanted to break out in tremors.

We journeyed back into the thankfully empty joint office where I sat down at my blank desk, leaving the other two to sit in the small chairs provided.

"No kids? Husband?" the second officer asked with a vaguely snobbish attitude.

I shook my head and I opened my mouth before closing it again.

"Ms. Revis, I'm sorry you had to find out this way but as you saw your assistant is dead. We found the remains at the train tracks just outside of a local bar. I say remains because parts of the body were attached to the wheels of the train and traveled for a few miles before someone noticed the gore at the station."

I looked at the first officer's pitying but sharp, brown eyes and tried to keep myself professional; however, the second officer's green eyes pierced me through with unease.

"Did Micheal have a drinking problem? "

I nodded, then shook my head, "Mi-Micheal, he did drink. Sometimes he'd come to work barely sober but he still helped as best he could..."

"You didn't report him?" the second officer asked disbelievingly.

I shook my head and gave him a grimace, "He was in a few programs...He needed a stable environment so I had him run errands."

"As you did all the work? From what your colleagues have told me, you do most of your work alone," the first officer continued the interrogation.

"I take my work very seriously, Officer. While I'm here I try to devote all my effort into my tasks...but we were also understaffed. I knew it wasn't safe to have Micheal work here, but he needed the money and he did try his best. I took as many precautions as I could."

He glanced at his partner then asked me, "Did Micheal seem depressed to you?"

I shook my head again, "He had a few down moments but it never lasted long."

"Did he ever reach out to you in any way?"

I wrinkled my nose, "He often asked me and some other co-workers to a drink or out for dinner."

"Did you ever take him up on his offer?" the second officer jumped into the conversation.

I shook my head, "I work late shifts. Most of the time I'm too stressed to think of going out."

"What was your opinion of Micheal?"

I knew it was a loaded question so I replied as naturally as I could, "Micheal lacked work ethics but had enough humor to liven up the place. I appreciated his role in the morgue but sometimes he went too far."

"Too far?" soft brown eyes hardened slightly.

"Yeah, he was insistent on taking me out to dinner or for drinks after work. I'm not really used to such attention and I didn't want to get involved with any of my co-workers," I blushed slightly upon saying such embarrassingly _false_ information then cleared my throat and fidgeted with the fabric of my slacks.

"I see..." the officer with hard green eyes replied causing me to wonder what exactly he _did_ see.

"Did you know Micheal was found _sober_ near the railroad tracks, when there's a bar just a block away...That seems a bit odd."

I furrowed my brows, "That doesn't make much sense...Maybe he was kicked out of the bar if he didn't have enough money to pay for his first drink? I honestly don't know, Officer. He said he was going home to drink when he was over."

"Over where?" brown eyes brightened with curiosity.

"My apartment. I came to work not feeling well, a day or so ago, and tried to stay but he insisted to drive me home."

"In your car?"

I shook my head, "I don't own a car. We rode in his."

"What happened then?"  
>"He took me home and I was feeling very sick. He uh.."<p>

"You let a co-worker you wouldn't socialize outside of work, enter your apartment?" green eyes narrowed accusingly.

Trying to placate the officer, I replied, "I was sick the first night he tried making, ah, making a move on me and I told him to leave,"

"How did he respond?" the first officer asked softly.

I thought hard and said, "He didn't seem _too_ angry but he was upset, said he'd go out to drink."

The second officer didn't blink, "Was that the last time you heard from him?"

I nodded, "Yes, I took the next day off to recover and then came into work today."

"Well that will be all for today, Ms. Revis," the green eyed officer said in an almost harsh tone.

"Thank you for your time Ms. Revis, We'll be sure to talk to you again on our next round," the brown eyed officer said in a soft, reassuring tone.

I nodded as we exited the joint office allowing me to return to the morgue where Barry was still looking at the body. While passing Barry I acted completely out of character by touching his heavily clothed shoulder comfortingly, "Barry, it'll be okay."

Barry looked at me, surprised I had touched him, much less shown such a human emotion as sympathy, but before he could respond he was called away by the officers. He gave one last glance towards the body then shifted his gaze to me. Uncomfortable I looked down at the corpse before shaking my head and sealing my dead assistant into his proper place.

Although my mind was still troubled from the interrogation, I knew it wasn't over yet. They hadn't asked me to come down to the station—well, not yet anyway.

Never mind that, Micheal was dead and I had work to do.

I cleared my mind as best I could before once more donning my gloves before I sought after the patient I had intended to honour tonight.

As the metal table wheeled out from the wall I took deep note of his appearance...Ahh, that would require some facial reconstruction.

Easily transporting the child's body to the embalming table I slowly began to slip into a pensive state in which I was only aware of the patient before me.

…Two Weeks Later...

The urge grew...

What had started as a simple ponder on my walk home, what had started as a train of thought while I cooked, what had started as a mild day-dream, what had started as a vivid dream, turned into a compulsion...A compulsion I could not shake.

I tried all sorts of books, different recipes, treated my co-workers to homemade baked goods, I even tried going out to a cafe...but to no avail.

The urge grew. It plagued me...

As soon as I opened my eyes...Then within my sleepy afternoon schedule...While I walked to work...When I walked home...As I read...Before I slept...When I closed my eyes in slumber...the compulsion followed me.

Thankfully my sessions with my patients were uninterrupted. It seemed that only the cool presence of the deceased could keep my compulsion at bay—but for how long? I feared this idea would not leave me.

The urge grew...It overpowered me.

The compulsion itself was simple. In fact, the very idea was laughable within its _lack_ of difficulty. It was only the effects that were bothersome. One move in the wrong direction and I'd be thrown into a cell—So were the penalties of killing.

Surely one would think that upon working with the dead on a regular basis I'd think of such matters often. It was true to an extent. Working with the dead, listening to their story, seeing their life...all of it was a very big reminder of not only my own but everyone's mortality.

The urge grew...It strengthened me.

My main conclusion, the result of my both my compulsion and my experiences was merely this: humanity lied. Humanity was in constant motion: moving, speaking, stealing, eating, sleeping (when their dreams continued to run), progressing and progressing further into the next day. Yet no matter their personal deeds, everyone lied.

The past was solid, concrete, stable...The future was an abyss of uncertainty; yet the present held more peril. Within the present, anything could change and everything was unreliable. Truths lost meaning, lies became realities, ties shattered, bonds were forged, the point was humanity lied. Only the dead, the ones who had ceased in the ways of life, were honest. Those who lived held the cruelty that required punishment.

The urge grew...It taught me.

Just the other day I watched the news only to see yet another bank robbery. The day after I read of a school shooting. The next day it was reported that two bodies turned up in the sewers. Each event only furthered my beliefs that humanity itself was corrupt.

While I understood many walks of life through my journeys within the dead—for the walls of their organs and the lines and grooves of their skin told much—I could never connect with the living. Perhaps it was my anxiety upon seeing people in public places. Maybe it was my skill...After all it's difficult to create let alone maintain a friendship when one hug has the potential to reveal every darkened secret about that person.

The urge grew...It protected me.

I had an idea, a simple pondering thought...that grew. It began as a complaint. A mild, whiny complaint I had thought of: why? Why was it so hard for me to fit in? Why was it so hard for me to interact with others?

The dead I understood. The dead I respected. The dead I trusted...The living, they remained unstable. Always in perpetual motion: the motion of life and of lies. True, I had encountered disgusting filth, unbearable scum of humanity, within my morgue but I bore through the pain of their mentality and sought after the good. I noted that everyone possessed both good will and hatred just as everyone had their own beliefs, their own inner consul. While this discovery both intrigued and frightened me, over time I began to better understand it...Yet how would I connect with the living when they were constantly changing?

The urge grew...It propelled me.

The answer was simple...If I was unable to connect with or to understand those around me, except for the deceased, then I would merely add onto that list. Those who were dead provided stability and a sense of kinship that the ever changing, always lying, humanity lacked. If I were to bring forth more of the silent and breathless whose heart ceased to beat to the drum of fatality, I would more easily understand humanity.

The urge grew...It consumed me.

Of course I'd already know the cause of death which took out some of the challenge...but I still didn't understand all of humanity. There was much I wanted to, no _needed _to learn. Much of which I could only learn as their petty hearts still bled...

I knew with one touch and enough concentration I was able to view fragments of life from either the living or deceased—but it was only the living which posed as a threat. Their story was ongoing, their truths changing, their beliefs altering; however, those who have faced life and continued onto death, they were honest, unchanging, and without living fault. And so I would connect with the living, by bonding during the most traumatic and finalizing moment within life: death.


	7. Chapter 5: The Tramp

**Ello! Minion here! Wow, I can't believe that we're finally getting to the good stuff! With about 1-2 more chapters to go before our characters are reunited I find myself beyond giddy ^-^ **

**I quite enjoy these upcoming chapters (now gone are the awkward chapters I struggled with to reach this point!) and I hope that you all will enjoy them even more than I do! Once more I would like to thank everyone for reading and reviewing, your words mean so much to me...honestly, I feel like I'm soaring through the sky while I explode with the happiness one feels from eating a spoonful of nutella-yea, it's just that good! **

**Also I do not in any way, shape, or form, own Batman/ Batman Begins, with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

"Revis," my Boss called out to me as he popped in four fish oil pills, "Interview this girl, she wants a job here."

Typical...push off your duties like some overseer as you sit in your own 'office' at the head of the joint room that held all the desks of each employee. Just sit and kick up your leather cowboy boots on your desk as you chew tobacco and down fish oil pills as if it were the elixir of life...

I shook my head, as he walked passed me. _Before_ I had been interrupted, I was reviewing my paperwork but _now_ I had to go evaluate some girl. I heard a brief knock at the joint room's door and I called out, "Come in."

A timid girl, seemingly sixteen, walked through the door at a nervous, shuffling pace. Her greasy, black hair fell limply at her shoulders which were obscured in an oversized, grey hoodie.

"I-I'm here for the job interview..." she stammered.

"Yes," I smiled pleasantly, "Please take a seat."

She did so, stumbling on her shoe-laces and barely catching herself on the chair. She then sat down on the edge of her seat, both red in the face and looking extremely uncomfortable.

"Tell me about yourself."

"I-I just g-graduated from Gotham High. I know I don't have any previous experience and all but I'm really interested in working here."

I fought to raise by eyebrow in disbelief. Did she not realize she would need a _college_ degree to even consider working here?

Even so I nodded as if I cared, "Do you have any special skills?"

She blushed again then replied, "I'm willing to work hard and for long hours. I c-can be understanding to those who have recently lost someone...I—"

"What brought you here today?" I inquired, cutting her off, eager to end this sad charade of an interview.

Her eyes widened, "I-I.."

Again I interrupted her strangled speech, "Is it the money? The credential? Some morbid fascination?"

She shook her head, "N-No, not for money...I recently got a room in an apartment in the Narrows, it doesn't cost much—Besides I used to hang around the graveyard my grandfather owned in Vermont. I'm familiar with the workings and I'd l-like to try it."

I stood and walked over to her, hoping to crush her 'dreams' when she was safely out of my funeral parlor, "Thank you for your time, do you have a number I can reach you at?"

She shook her head, "I just moved out and I don't have a cell phone. Besides my apartment hasn't turned back on the electricity yet."

I felt a creeping disgust at her gall...Even the _sectaries_ here held a more extensive background than she did.

Even so, I smiled reassuringly, "Of course, that's okay. How about you come back this weekend, say Saturday at 8 pm and we'll talk then."

She shot up enthusiastically, "Yes—I-I mean, thank you!"

She took my hand in a handshake and I fought to not pull my hand back—

_The dark night stretched out before me...only a few feet further—there! I walked up to the crypt of my target and began to pry open the door. I knew the group would be pleased with the loot. Ha! I couldn't wait to see their faces when I returned. They all thought the abandoned __graveyard would be bust—but after they caught sight of all the jewels the rich bitch has hidden away they wouldn't doubt—_

The memory suddenly cut off as she released my hand, thanked me once more, and left the office...

That lying, two-faced, hypocrite!

"_I used to hang around the graveyard—"_ Oh yes, because graverobbing was considered 'hanging' around!

Damn her! How dare she try to work here! She didn't deserve a job among the dead...No, she deserved to die. Let's see how strong she was in the face of death...

"Revis!" my Boss called out to me once more as he stepped out from the room at the end of the hall where we stored the bodies that were to be presented during a funeral the next day, "Where's the girl?"

I schooled my features then smiled pleasantly, "I told her to come back on Saturday at eight."

He scrunched up his forehead, "But we close at seven..."

I nodded then looked past him into the holding room—what was that?

When I voiced my thoughts, he turned around with a big smile full of tobacco stained teeth and replied, "Come see."

I curiously walked forward then froze...

A patient lay on the table dressed in the biodegradable shroud that was custom for unclaimed bodies...but the hair was spiked up in too long spikes. The woman lay expressionless or would have if not for the too pale makeup and black eyeliner drawn in spirals around her face.

My heart skipped a beat upon seeing her like this then stopped for a moment when my Boss walked towards her and picked up a limp hand, "She was fun to work with, eh Revis?"

Suddenly he began to lift her arms and torso up so her head lolled to her shoulder the spikes crunching under the weight.

"Look Revis, she wants to dance!" he looked at me then narrowed his eyes and released her so that her body slumped down at an awkward angle, "Hey, I know what you're thinking but when you're in this line of work long enough, you gotta find a bit of humor."

I nodded only having enough control to respond naturally, "I understand...but I have paperwork to get to."

He nodded and popped in two more fish oil pill from his case of pills he kept in his pocket. After swallowing them without water he then wiped his hands on his pants, "Yeah, I should go out for dinner. You want something?"

I shook my head and he brushed past me smelling of too much cheap cologne with the final echo of the door closing I knew I was alone.

At first there was shock...

What had just happened? I had never met someone who could justify doing _that_.

Then there was fury...

The gall the man had...the snobbery of that graverobber, did no one respect Death?

How dare they disrespect my patrons! I cared for the dead and through my duty I would avenge them. After all, Death is inescapable and so they will not outrun me—but first I needed to fix my patient.

I slowly approached her, frowning deeply at the crude makeup and greasy gel. I brushed my bare hand across her neck soothingly before sharply pulling my hand back—It..? He...? _**No.**_

I ran to through the to the trash can nearest to me and threw up until I was left to dry heave in a vain attempt to reject the empty contents of my stomach. My throat ached and my eyes stun but the pain inside out measured that of my physical discomfort.

_**Why?**_

The images, burned into my mind in a split second, played over and over.

I hadn't witnessed a flicker of emotion or a glimpse of her life as I had thought I would—No, that had _not_ been the terrorizing sight I saw. Instead I saw what happened to her _post mordem_. She was **violated**...**disgraced**..._**raped**_...by my Boss.

I couldn't take it anymore...and so I cried.

For the first time in so many years, I allowed agonized tears to fall from my normally dry eyes. I wept for the outrages against Death. Why did everyone mistreat my patrons? The deceased were my charges, for I was Death. I held the power to see life and all that life touched. I was blessed the ability to tend to those who had forsaken life for a world of silence; sweet, blessed, eternal silence.

Many fight against Death with vaccinations and medicine yet no matter the attempt, in the end I, Death, stood as the victor—But to those who _slandered_ my charges, _taunted_ me with their vile deeds...Oh, they would be punished. Since they were so insistently drawn to Death by their vile desires, I'd fulfill their fascination and carry them over to eternal darkness.

My sobs eventually softened as my resolve hardened. With new purpose I rose and returned to the holding room, choking back a cry as I looked at her once more...

Poor dear, don't worry I'll avenge you...but first I must cleanse you of that man's vile touch.

After I assembled the necessary items and had adorned the necessary clothing, I began. I worked tirelessly; fully devoted to my task. To start with I gently scrubbed away the ugly paint from her ashen face. Then I labored until her hair was styled correctly after being washed and dried into wispy strands which I then straightened to accent the layers in her hair. From there I applied appropriate makeup of a natural shade that held no trace of the horrid black which marred her face before. Despite the high probability that she would be cremated, I was determined to honour her in whatever way I was able, even if it were something so meager as dressing her properly.

I sighed as I looked over her once more.

Rest now, darling...I apologize because I cannot erase his touch but I will punish that man...but first I had some documents to destroy.

If I were to be Death then I would no longer require my name. After all, any record of my existence was not only unnecessary but bothersome.

In order to begin my newest task, I cleaned my station and then visited the file cabinets near the computer where we accessed all the records of everyone in Gotham in order to more readily identify the unclaimed bodies. Easily pulling up my file I began to delete everything. Once that was done I moved onto the fire-proof safe under my desk.

I didn't trust my apartment with the crime rate of the neighborhood and so I stored my social security card, health record, high school diploma, college degree, and any other paper of great importance that I had saved over the years at work.

Thankfully I had no worry of my apartment's lease or any mail addressed to me because all of it was listed under my grandmother's name who had supported my decision to move to Gotham despite her worsening Alzheimer's disease. Even so I knew I'd check over my apartment thoroughly once I returned home.

Then once I was sure my former identity was dead, I'd plan my vengeance on those who deserved it...

Unwaveringly I walked towards the crematorium as I held all my documents together before taking a deep breath. Upon exhaling I threw them inside, closed the door, and turned on the switch.

...Saturday 7:50 pm...

I waited by the entrance of the funeral parlor as my other co-workers traded shifts. No one bothered me, as they all had I learned that I usually waited for Barry to arrive before carried on with my routine.

"Eh Revis, Barry's out sick today and Kelly started maternity leave, you'll need to lock up when you're done," the passing day-secretary said.

I nodded accordingly as he exited the building with the last employee then continued to wait. I glanced at the clock: 7:55.

Suddenly the glass door was rapped on.

Ah, the traitor...the lying, stealing tramp—Well the lying, stealing, _punctual_ tramp.

I greeted her with a smile and ushered her in.

"T-thank you," she stuttered, blushing again but I merely stared at her until she cleared her throat uncomfortably.

"Well then, you'll be shadowing me tonight. No one else is here, so you'll play the part of my assistant. Just wait here while I check my schedule."

Hmm, look how well my last assistant fared...maybe it was becoming a trend?

She nodded and took a seat near the wall while I stepped into my office and looked at my list: nothing but paperwork.

I frowned...

No, that wouldn't do—What about Barry?

He was absent after all so maybe there was—ah!

I smiled as I stared at Barry's calendar which hung on the wall just beside my desk.

So there was a body that needed to be picked up at the local hospital?

Perfect.

I walked back to the entrance and grabbed my trench coat. When I arrived I saw the tramp eying our urns and various artifacts hanging on the wall in cases. Briefly I felt the urge to chop off the very hands that itched to steal the mementos of Death—or maybe I'd gouge out her eyes. Since she walked the dark path of graverobbing perhaps she'd enjoy the permanent darkness before Death took her.

"Come along now, we have to pick up a body."

"Pick up a body?" she asked in a confused but gentle tone—How _dare_ she continue the fascade!

I nodded and led her past the main office to a door in the hallway that also connected the mortuary itself and the joint office room. Before I opened the door, I took a key from the rings hanging on the wall and then motioned for her to follow me.

Three hearses waited in the chilly garage but I already knew which one we'd be riding in. As I walked up to the first one and unlocked it she hesitated until I beckoned for her to join me. She did so reluctantly although she didn't gag at the smell of Death and chemicals that remained in the hearse...In fact, it was her _lack _of reaction to smells that would gag most people unfamiliar with the deceased that furthered my resolve.

The drive to the local hospital was silent; she stared out of the window while I kept my eyes on the road. Already knowing the process by heart, I steered the larger car to the basement of the hospital and up to the loading dock made just for occasions such as this.

Once we exited the car I lead her into the building and we walked past the security who nodded in approval, already familiar with me from previous jobs. We then journeyed to the morgue within the hospital.

Now, we were alone...

"Damn, I forgot to say we're supposed to pack up a crate of A negative blood!"

She looked at me sideways, "Well where is it?"

Hmph, if she actual was _"-familiar with the workings-" _she would know that mortician's _drained_ the blood from their patients only to fill them with other chemicals; however, I looked at her with widened eyes, "I don't think my Boss called in beforehand. Look, I'm sorry to ask this but can you find me a crate of A negative? You'll have to sneak it though, they get kinda pissy if we don't call in beforehand."

She nodded, a ghost of a smile on her face, "Alright, I know where they keep it. My Aunt was anemic and needed blood transfusions regularly. She was hospitalized a lot, so to help pay I interned at the hospital."

I smiled thankfully while my stomach churned.

_"-No previous experience-", "-recently graduated-_"

_**Liar**_.

That deceitful bitch, did she really believe I would fall for her fabricated nonsense?

"Thank you," I patted her shoulder making sure to avoid the skin showing in between her oversized hoodie and tight tank top.

She then turned around and scurried out like the filth she was.

Breathe Revis...

I took a deep breath then focused my attention to the _real_ job before me. After methodically checking the different slots for the correctly marked body, I then identified the patient and began loading the body onto a gurney in order to wheel it down the slightly sloping floor.

Before I had traveled far, she abruptly reappeared, carrying a large crate with ease.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Of course she could handle the weight even with her slight frame. After all, graverobbing required a bit of strength.

I smiled hollowly once more before wordlessly leading the way back to the hearse as I ignored the calm gaze of the security guard. Although I preferred to be alone, I was finding that as Death I had more confidence, if only a _bit_ more...Either way I enjoyed the feeling of _not_ hyperventilating at the sight of another human; however, my legs still shook and I felt too warm and cold at the same time.

As we finished loading the hearse, I sent her back to return the gurney. When she returned I ushered her into the hearse once more before I drove us back to the morgue with my quarry. Upon arriving I asked her to place the crate in the corner of the morgue's embalming room until I was able to move it. She complied as I struggled with the body but eventually moved him to the storing room. My eyes lingered on his cold form.

Rest there for a moment, I shall see to you shortly.

As I turned to return to the embalming room, I heard gruff laughter break through the hallway.

Curiously I looked into the hallway and saw the light to the joint office's was open, allowing the warmth of light to spill through while carrying hoarse laughter on its rays.

I knew that laugh—it made my blood run cold. It was the laugh of a heartless monster; the laugh of a filthy creature; it was the laugh of my Boss.

Hmm, so we weren't alone after all.

I continued along my way until I was once more met with the the tramp's deceitful stare. Ignoring her for a moment, I looked over my shoulder to once more catch a glimpse of the golden light as I faintly heard a quick reply then the sound a phone being slammed down on the receiver...

Perfect.


	8. Chapter 6: Heartfelt Sentiments

**Ello! Minion here! EEEEEEEE! I'm very excited this weekened for a few reasons. **

**First of all, earlier tonight I went to a cosplay party as Revis in her personified version of Death (long, black, poofy dress, hooded cape, crow/feathered makeup that looks like a mask) and it was fantastic! Soon I plan to cosplay as Revis in her Arkham jumpsuit/straight-jacket! I can't wait until I can take photos and make more videos! Sometime later I'll give you all links to my you-tube account since I've been making videos for awhile now but I haven't made the videos public yet because I wanted to release the right chapters first. I don't want people to watch the video without first reading the story that goes with it, it would only lead to confusion and would steal away the true impact of the video.**

**Secondly, I absolutely LOVE this chapter ^-^ It's definitely one of my favorites (despite another bout of failed interrogation by the police) and I hope all of my wonderful readers enjoy it as well! Also thank you to everyone who as reviewed, your words mean so much to me. Just knowing that you took the time out of your day to write a review warms my heart and gives me pleasant fuzzies in my stomach!**

**Oh, I almost forgot! I use a touch of Latin in my story (as if the Latin title wasn't already a clue) and I'm in my third year of learning the language so I would like to think my translations/compositions are accurate; although, if they are not then please feel free to correct me. **

**For this chapter the Latin translations are: _"Vita Sanguis" = _"Life Blood" and _"Mors et sum...volo necare...egeo necare..." = _"I am death...I want to kill...I need to kill..."**

**Also I do not in any way, shape, or form own Batman/ Batman Begins; although, I do own Revis and the plot ^-^ With that in mind, enjoy! **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

Her punishment would be swift, his would not.

I would use the same vile heart that beat in tune with lust and disgrace to turn against him...but now I needed to get rid of the tramp.

I turned to her and smiled coldly, "This body is marked for cremation, so I'll show you how the process works."

This was a lie of course, the process first involved much paperwork and finalization but she didn't know that. After all, what value were ashes to a graverobber? Perhaps the urn would be of some value but not the ashes themselves.

The girl neared the ominous metal contraption and peered at it curiously.

"Usually we soak the body in Boron to weigh down the ashes and control the burning once the combustion—"

"Combustion?" she asked her voice wavering.

"Yes, the body will eventually experience combustion. Anyway, we set the temperature to 1,800 degrees and wait for about three hours."

"What about the clothes or jewelry?" she asked.

"We leave that on. It would be disrespectful and unnecessary to remove the clothing when that is easily burned as well."

I saw her bite her cheek in an attempt to not retort.

"We lay the body here," I walked closer blocking the view purposefully so she had to stand beside me to see properly, "And..."

I suddenly turned to her and smashed her head against the metal door to stun her. Before she could regain her senses, I picked her up by her hoodie and belt loop of her pants then shoved her into the machine. She caught my cheek with her foot but I quickly closed and locked the door...

She would have to wait for the rest of her punishment.

She whimpered in pain and pressed at the metal uselessly but for the most part she remained quiet...Ha, perhaps she wasn't a complete idiot.

Taking a deep breath to relax myself, I then walked to the cabinets, to search inside until I found the grey, metal case I had placed there on Friday. Pulling it out, I surveyed my supplies...

This would be fun.

I grabbed the syringe filled with a clear liquid and squirted a little out to avoid collecting air bubbles.

Yet how how to lure my Boss out without alarming him? Hmm, why not appeal to his tastes?

I steeled my resolve, reminding myself that this was for the _greatest_ good and I wouldn't _actually_ be going against my morals. Under those reassurances, I stuck my head out of the doorway and called out, "Hey, can you help me in here?"

Immediately he jumped to his feet or tried to because I heard a loud crash before he appeared, vainly trying to catch his breath yet he visibly relaxed upon seeing me—

Tsk, tsk he'd pay for that.

Unsure of how to react he uncertainly asked me, "Oh it's just you Revis...What do ya want?"

I gave him an uncertain smile then said, "Remember the other day...? Well I want to learn how to um..." I trailed off as he gave me a sleazy smile.

"Well sure then!"

He walked with a cocky gait and I felt my anger double but forcibly restrained myself. As he passed through the door to walk toward the embalming table, I stood hesitating while holding the syringe behind my back.

"Hey, where's the body?" he asked.

My heart raced in anticipation as I replied, "Over there..."

He turned around to look where I gestured with my free hand but unexpectedly the tramp screamed for help causing him to jump in shock. Not wasting time, I leapt towards him and shoved the syringe into his neck, injecting the serum into his bloodstream. Although for what I had planned, I'd need to quickly move him to the table and subdue him in some other way.

Momentarily burdened by his sudden dead weight, I awkwardly shuffled to to the table before pushing his slumped body over, uncaring of his twisted limbs.

In order to collect my composure and push down the rush of emotions, I ran my hand through my hair to calm my slight nerves.

Okay breathe, I know what to do...just breathe.

When I was more relaxed, I walked to the open cabinet and riffled through my metal box once more, this time resurfacing with a thick pile of folded, clear tarp. In the next few moments, I attached the tarps over the adjustable lights atop the embalming table.

Afterward, I removed a few pieces of my metal music stand from the box and assembled it according. Then I the opened the crate of blood to check that it was indeed A negative, before I began to hook up the many tubes and pints of blood onto my adjustable music stand.

While I neglected to use it for its original purpose, the many branches of the stand were perfect for my endeavor.

Perhaps I should begin playing again? Maybe Se—No, I won't **ever** think of that again.

Forcibly shaking the thought from my head, I glanced at my 'Boss' whose eyes awkwardly darted around in terror with each movement I made.

Ha! He was a filthy creature and _deserved_ this. Finally I would be able avenge my patient from his rotten, desecrating touch.

Yes, this would do nicely...Now for the main event.

For the last time I journeyed to my metal box in order to reveal a sharp yet short blade. Due to the way I dropped him on the table, he was on his side: immobile. Using this to my advantage, I stripped him of his clothing.

At first, some items such as his shirt proved to be a challenge but I was used to removing clothes, even after rigor mortis set it and I was eventually able to remove every garment. Out of consideration for his dignity and to refrain from turning him into an Enoch as well, I covered his hips and genitals with a white cloth.

At this point I was ready...

I smiled down at his prone form as I felt along his bare back, tracing the curve of his spine around tanned and somewhat oily skin, "You're a disgrace to your kind. I will destroy you."

My hand rose along his back, allowing me to then place the edge of the blade against the base of his neck. I paused for a theatrical moment before firmly pushing the blade in deep and pulling back quickly.

He spasmed once then went slack once more.

I knew that as his _all_ muscles relaxed, his bladder and intestines would empty themselves yet I knowingly left him in his humiliating state since it wouldn't interfere with the punishment I was about to inflict on him.

Sadly enough he wouldn't feel the deserved pain but he would still watch in horror as his own darkened heart sped towards his demise.

Yes, that would come soon enough.

Picking up the needles that connected to the tubes, I then inserted them into various points in his body which fed into his veins. Although there was no pressure (purposefully so) some blood still trickled into the tube; however, very few drops escaped his skin.

I pressed my glasses further up on my nose and pondered where I would cut first..

I knew from his over-compulsive habit of popping fish oil pills in order to help his blasted heart, that it ironically thinned his blood to the point of danger. I remember the panicked day he accidentally cut his finger on a paper and it bleed steadily for five minutes. In the end he went home too 'overworked' to continue. If such a shallow scrape induced those results I was excited to watch the spectacle before me.

Perhaps then, I'll start with the femoral artery?

Yes, that would do.

Securing the tarps once more I prepared to act but a muffled scraping stopped me—

Ah, the tramp.

Changing direction, I now walked towards the machine and smiled although I knew she wouldn't be able to see it, "You disturbed and dismembered those who had been laid to their final rest. In vengeance I will incinerate you."

With that I set the controls as she began to scream; listening to the wails, my smile only widened.

Finally things were beginning to be fun!

However, I turned my attention back to the man who _really_ deserved his fate.

Hovering over him without any pretenses to fool him into security, I used the same knife as before and made several _deep_ punctures throughout his body.

The result was immediate: blood gushed out, arching onto the tarps, my clothes—it even stained my face and a lens on my glasses. The stream continued yet I didn't want the event to end just yet, so I pulled the caps off the pints of blood, allowing the new blood to feed into his veins while his too thin blood gushed out.

Stepped back within the tarp, occasionally being struck by a splash of blood I otherwise remained untouched. Now I laughed, clutching at my sides.

Ah, it was indeed a fountain of life!_ Vita Sanguis_!

Yes, it was his cursed heart that led him astray and it would be his heart that bled as he paid for his crimes! Even the screams of the tramp which had at first amplified now began to scatter amid the pitter patter of blood hitting the tarps. Yes, even she had the sense not to ruin this momentous moment.

Ahh, how interesting...The sight itself was almost as inspiring as wonder of nature.

Faintly, I heard a noise but shrugged it off as the girl's struggles; however, I was not expecting the curses that sounded as two pairs of footsteps entered the room. Yet I refused to look away from the sight as I noted the steady pace the pints were draining.

Hmm, I'd have to refill them soon.

"Step away from the body! Put your hands on your head!" the voice yelled loudly, not yet drowning out the sounds of screams that abruptly ceased.

Still I made no move to comply as I simply watched the man bleed...

Yes, this was right. Finally he would pay—Hey! What were they doing?

Suddenly I was pulled back as someone roughly brought my arms behind my back then encircled my wrists with cold metal.

Oh well, I was still watching—Excuse me?

Jostling me, the man briefly blocked my view of the righteous sight before me.

I glared up at the man, not quite seeing him entirely through my bloodstained glasses, "Pardon me for asking but if you would kindly step to the side, I'd appreciate it greatly."

I strained to see around him but he kept me in place while I heard his partner speak in a weird sequence as he neared the show, "I'm trying to watch, if you would be so—"

"Shit, he's still alive! I'm—"

Suddenly, I was being dragged backward and began to struggle but was hit in the stomach with a hard, blunt object. Coughing I then winced at the pain while the grabbing hands escorted me from the building.

What a pain! I had worked so hard to create the very punishment I was denied seeing! Damn, although I suppose there would be other times...

And so I walked along, not understanding the words that passed between them as the lights from another police car flashed as it neared the morgue. I squinted against the bright glare while trying to look at the blurred faces of those around me but to no avail...

I suppose the blood _did_ hinder my sight a bit.

Although I was walking half-blind, I was still taken by surprise as I tripped on the pavement. Thankfully, the men escorting me straightened me then pushed me into the backseat.

Ow, that wasn't polite. I would have gotten in if they had only asked...

Sighing, I struggled to sit upright but the car quickly sped off, jolting me back into the seat.

Hmm, well this car _was_ comfortable—too bad it didn't last long.

I only had about ten minutes to enjoy the interior before the vehicle stopped causing me to almost fall into the space between the dividing wall and floor. Next the door opened and I was grabbed at in order to be brought forth from the car and into the station.

...

The bright lights of the building irked me.

The whole room irked me.

It's stainless walls painted a too bright white, matching the extremely florescent lights that glinted off the scratched, metal table, drew my attention to the mirror in front of me which I knew held many avid viewers waiting.

"What is your full name, Revis?" the man in front of me asked.

I stared at the scratches on the table.

"We came to your office and found only your name plate—every other file had been destroyed. We went to your apartment and there was not one letter or piece of paper with your name on it. Why did you destroy your information?"

They should really find a way to get those scratches out of the table.

"We know you killed your assistant, we found your apartment's key in his pocket and his car outside your apartment complex. All the evidence points to you."

"..."

"We walked in on you killing two people. One of them is _dead_ the other is in the trauma ward of the intensive care unit."

The grey reminded me of a spoon, it dipped the same way—or seemed to, maybe it was just the too bright light that warped my perception.

"You're sitting in the police station, where you'll stay for as long as we want, covered in your victim's blood. We know you did it, we can lock you away forever and _no_ _one_ will care."

"..."

"Dammit Revis, look at me."

My eyes flickered to his for a split second and that was all it took for me to lose it.

I broke out into a wide smile and laughed softly, "Well hello there!"

He narrowed his eyes, "Tell me why you killed them Revis."

I cocked my head to the side and looked at his brown eyes...

Hmm, that seemed to be a very popular eye-colour, then again it wasn't like someone was able to change eye-colour aside from shaded contact lenses.

"I can't see you," I replied.

"Of course you can, I'm right in front of you. Or were you referring to your glasses that are stained with the _blood_ of your boss?"

"No," I said quietly, "I can't see you...I want you to open up. I wonder what kind of life you lived? Although I could easily find out, I'm feeling a bit curious...

"Perhaps your organs wouldn't mind if I took a closer look? I might even figure out how long exactly the body can function without the protection of the epidermis. Of course, I'd have to sterilize the room and have certain instruments ready in case you seized into cardiac arrest or fell into shock," I paused to think thoughtfully before looking back to him, "Would you be so kind as to lie upon the table? I doubt the scratches were made idlely but the surface seems clean enough. " Yet sadly it seems that I am without any tools...Well then, guess I'll just have to improvise."

I stood and he did as well, except he reached out to grab my arm that was steadily reaching towards my belt. I flinched at the contact and kicked at him to make him release me,.

"Let go of me!" I growled harshly and struggled to free myself but he pushed me back into the chair; none too gently either.

I snarled at him and exhaled heavily, "Don't touch me!"

He looked back at me with calculating eyes, "Why not?"

I kept eye contact long enough to glare then dropped my gaze back to the table, "Because I don't want to see..."

"See what?"

"You..."

He sighed and then tried again, "Look, you can talk in circles all night and into the next night if you want to but that doesn't change the fact that you're here."

"..."

"What's your full name Revis."

"I'm not..."

"You're not what?"

"I'm not...I am...What does it matter to you? Death comes in all forms, one guise shouldn't hold this much intrigue."

"Death?"

My eyes unfocused and I nodded. In fact, I soon found myself unable to stop, "_Mors est sum...Volo necare...Egeo necare..."_

"What?"

_"Mors est sum...Volo necare...Egeo necare...Mors est sum...Volo necare...Egeo necare...Mors est sum...Volo necare...Egeo necare...Mors est sum...Volo necare...Egeo necare..."_

"Revis—"

"_Mors est sum...Volo necare...Egeo necare..."_

"Re—"

I had a random shudder go through me causing me to fall onto the floor which only induced a bout of laughter as I hit my head against the desk's metal leg.

I bit my tongue at one point and I tasted blood but that was fine with me, _Vita Sanguis!_ That caused more laughter and soon I was panting as I tried to breathe through the shudders and my mantra, "_Mors est sum...Volo necare...Egeo necare...Mors est sum...Volo necare...Egeo necare..."_

"This is it. I'm done. Send her to Arkham for an evaluation."


	9. Chapter 7: Welcome to Arkham

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to apologize for the 'late' update. I've been having internet problems and was forced to wait till almost 1pm to post instead of 12am as I prefer. Thank you all for reading my story, reviewing (seriously it takes my breath away to see how much you all love my story ^-^ ) and patiently waiting for this update! **

**Now I know most of you have been looking forward to having Dr. Crane in this chapter but I'm sorry to say he comes in the next chapter-I PROMISE! This is an important chapter although its importance may not be apparent until later on. Please be patient, I promise Dr. Crane will arrive next chapter! **

**Also I made an audio version of this chapter (although in my opinion I shouldn't have because while this chapter deserves some awesome audio the video didn't turn out as I wanted. If anyone is interested my you-tube user name is: ScarecrowxRevis13. I should make the video public after I post this chapter so if you want to check it out, look me up ^-^ Oh the video is called " Mors Et Timor, Chapter Seven: Welcome to Arkham")**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman/ Batman Begins with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8<strong>

The words were muddled...each sounding hollow as if there was an absence of life, warmth, _feeling_, within their empty chests. I felt hollowed myself, never before have I had such a weighted feeling drag me further into my darkened sorrow. I felt a deep, jarring pain in my lungs that burned to my heart and up into my throat. Part of me felt separated, detached, from my current situation but the other part of me...the coherent part, was drenched in an icy realization: _Arkham._

Surely this was a mistake, I wasn't insane. I wasn't criminal either. I was Death...

Of course it was hard to tell them that when my detached self ruled my body with shuddering laughter that stole my breath away in pained intervals. I never saw how people enjoyed laughter. To me it was a hollow, broken, sound. I only laughed in dark humor, a sadistic plight, or as I was now, in a hysterical condition.

Of course I tamed my instability from my younger years. Yes, I put it away and threw out the key but somehow a burglar slithered in and wrenched the blasted thing out once more. But my main plaguing thoughts left me unable to protest much as two officers picked me up off the floor with intent to bring me to _Arkham._

I struggled against them but they held me tight and none to gently escorted me back to the police car through a series of winding hallways. I began to cry out and thrashed within their grip but they held me still.

No, not _Arkham_, anything but _Arkham_. Going to a place like _that_? Why it was simply out of the question, utterly incomprehensible.

Were _they_ barking mad? How could I have been chosen, like some forsaken sacrifice, to be sent to such a horrid building as _Arkham?_

I tried to stifle my gasping breathes that fought for both laughter and voice but the hilarity of the whole situation overcame me.

Here I was trying to speak yet if I ever did, no one would bother to listen because no one was real. They were only soulless parsons that walked masked existences, taking up space until they reached their true potential. Death was the answer, always was. Death was the taboo, the ancient rite, and true god.

Yet my potential as Death would not be openly received at such a cruel twisted thing that they called _Arkham._

When I managed to open my mouth in the midst of my twisting efforts to both free myself from their grip and cage the inner truth that they hadn't appreciated which in itself was ironic and tended to pull me back into laughter, only smeared words came out...

Smeared by the walls which melted and the faces which warped like candle wax melting, only to be spun and stretched in such a manner that the wax morphed into stringy strands. They answered in kind, in the same type of gibberish that everyone else spoke—

But only one word stood out with blinding clarity: _Arkham._

Once more I was met with the strange interior of the car, although this one was cold and smelled different. Perhaps this wasn't a car? Two men sat in the spacious metal contraption that swallowed me whole.

SWALLOWED!

We were eaten by the metal minded freaks of society! I stood up quickly trying to warn them of the danger before it was too late but they shoved me down and once more encircled my wrists in metallic ice which connected to the railings within the freakish vehicle...the freakish vehicle on the way to _Arkham._

The ride was long and the men seemed more alien then anything else in their dark suits.

Perhaps they were my guides? Devoted followers who wanted to ensure my safe journey? Pious men who honoured Death and knew they must spring me free?

I dearly hoped so for I did not think I was able to survive in this craziness. The chrome drones have merged the world into a smeared and frightening place...a place much like the dismal walls of _Arkham._

We drove and drove and drove and I began to shake and whimper muttering phrases I didn't quite catch but they ignored me and only stared at the metal walls.

How dare they sit in silence! I was not some lamb led to the slaughter house—Oh no. I was a powerful. I was mighty. I was Death...

But why was I going to _Arkham_?

The metal trap jerked and came to a rough stop. The men in front of me approached cautiously before swiftly making the transition of my bound hands in a manner too quick for me to take advantage of. From here I was once more lead from the _thing_ that held me and was brought into a building that shone like a beacon of terror in the pure night.

No, this could be! I wasn't really here! No, not in _Arkham!_

Oh but I was...

As they led me to the front door I struggled more against the bright lights and too loud echoing of metal on metal; a machine living and breathing.

Ahh! It was a writhing beast that threatened to overwhelm me, devour me...it was all I feared, all I detested, it was _Arkham!_

Immediately, I was led away from the main entry way and we passed through dark passages and electric doors that imposed as much threat as the the very dragon that I had entered. The area was much of the same: grey, grey, bright, too bright, loud, quiet, still, fast, grey, loud, still, _much_ too bright.

However, the men who were no doubt accomplices in this dammed plot merely kept me in line and all but dragged me to a strange room that was illuminated in white. The rooms before me required evil rites, torturous tasks. Strange men pressed against my body from all sides and ignored my cries and pleas. Sinisterly smiling nurses walked by in too bright, white uniforms that clashed and blended with the impossibly grey surface of the room.

How dare they, the vile workers, touch me! How dare they defile me as if I was merely another piece of property within the cursed belly of _Arkham._

Next a woman motioned to me and said something that stun like acid on skin. I heard only the emotion, not the actual sound, and to me it was a threat of the worst kind. She tried again and gently touched my clothed elbow as I flinched my arm away while lurching forward only to be restrained by the guards once more. I glared about the room as they neared me, trying to make sense of anything within this strange and unpleasant ruin known as _Arkham._

"We're going to need you to remove your clothing."

I tilted my head, my eyebrows furrowed as I struggled to understand their true motives...

In my rare bout of clarity I replied in a plea for assistance, " You see? A sea? Of blood red catastrophe? A dying generation, yes indeed."

I hoped the would _see_, see this beast, see the punishment that would follow if the didn't release me.

It was true, I was Death and _they_ were the dying generation; merely the next row to fall to my will. However, in this warped wonderland, everything made perfect nonsense...then again it was _Arkham._

They implored once more but I was lost again to the overflow of energy that I was too panicked to restrain. Suddenly more hands touched me and began to struggle as I jumped and attempted to flee. They pulled the clothing from my body in sure movements that I wailed and fought at. The fight was biased...I was outnumbered and more importantly I was threatened, scared, vulnerable...and they exploited it.

A sharp reaction rang through the crowd that drowned me within feeling and life.

Ugh, I swayed uneasily as their essence flowed over me. At this point I was beyond comprehending memories or thoughts, instead I was exposed to the very feeling of what they _were..._and just as I had feared they were only an extension of this beast: _Arkham._

More shifting essences entered me and I felt my legs go slack as several people approached me and lifted up my throbbing arms. They viewed the scarlet wounds, my only grounding factor within this place—

Surely they wouldn't deny me that?

Damn, why did I even bother asking?

Without further hesitation they brushed the skin with liquid fire that sizzled and burned, bubbling at my flesh in a torrent of heat and pain. Next they covered the beautiful markings with itchy, disgusting, _white_ fabric that only served to irritate me further. Now I was marked by the dreaded _Arkham._

I didn't bother to fight any longer. I figured my misery would only be prolonged if I did...and I was right. Silent tears fell down my face, no longer hindered by my stained glasses which they had taken as well. While it itched terribly, I was unable to move as the hands guided ugly, bright, orange clothing onto my skin.

It burned in its own way, much like the liquid clear fire they used on my lovely reminders. The neon colour seared my eyes and doubled in intensity whenever we passed a brighter—if possible—section of the room. Next came the restraints they placed me into. Then I was once more escorted further into the underbelly of _Arkham_.

I was led deeper and deeper, tilting downward into a sloping and chilled area. The large area housed many more animalistic creatures that created an unholy chaos around me.

Surely I wasn't meant to be left here? Surely I would be taken away from this madness?

But alas, it was in vain.

The walk was long and loud. The lights were bright and painful. My body flared with fear and pain.

It was too much...

I felt myself receding into my mind, blurring the contrasting walls and structure of the building to a degree I hadn't anticipated before. Finally, we stopped and more empty words fell around me like rain that stung with an icy chill. I was nudged inside then the doors shut with a loud clang and a series of beeps that made me twitch but I was becoming too grey to fully take in everything...

I shuffled to the odd thing jutting out of the wall which I supposed was to be the bed. I struggled for a moment to get atop the thing without falling, an action which was made harder due to my bound arms but finally I succeeded.

The surface was hard and cold but I was glad for the reprieve of heat and emotion...although the pain was eternal. I tried to smile but the action died before it could even mar the stoic feeling of my face. I stared lifelessly at the dismal grey wall in front of me as I remembered a phrase that randomly surfaced into my mind.

Welcome to your new home: _Arkham._


	10. Chapter 8: Preferences and Desires

**Ello! Minion here! Wow, I can't believe all the positive feedback I've recieved, let alone the great number of readers who follow my humble yet demented story. So thank you to everyone who has been here both reading and giving reviews! In truth, I am mostly in shock because while I never thought my story would be so popular, it amazes me that it's gained so much positive attention when I haven't even released the good chapters! **

**Yes, now that Revis is within Arkham, the story may finally begin. Since many of you have patiently -oh so patiently- waited for a certain loved (or feared?) villain to appear, I reassure you that Dr. Crane IS within this chapter and he will be a major role in many of the chapters to come. **

**Originally, chapter eight was a short intro into the following events from Dr. Crane's POV but I feel that you all deserve more than a page of writing (it's actually a bit less than a page) and decided to merge the next chapter with this one. Technically they cover the same event but from a different time sequence and viewpoint-Truthfully, the only reason I kept them separate is because I dislike switching view-points mid chapter but I'm willing to make an exception here. Personally I think the dialouge is a bit strained but I assure you that once the ball starts rolling everything will flow _much_ smoother! **

**Also I do not in any way, shape, or form own Batman/Batman Begins-with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8 Dr. Crane POV<strong>

…One Month After Meeting With Ms. Revis...

Time is a pressing affair with an ill tempered mistress...

Over the course of many weeks, I often found myself tiredly jumping through hoops while drowning in paperwork as I shuffled through prescription upon prescription, having almost no time to experiment or at least conduct well founded research. Due to such dictating and tedious impediments, it seems I've neglected to look into that dangerous mortician.

"Dr. Crane?" a voice called out as there was a knock on my door.

I repressed the urge to groan, "Yes, please do come in."

A squirrelly intern came in the room and nervously wrung her hands, "There's been a new patient, she's out of control, like some crazy beast!"

"When was she admitted?"

"Just now sir, the police dropped her off—Ugh, she was covered in blood."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as she shuddered in disgust, "The orderlies know how to handle dangerous patients, was that all you wished to inform me of?"

She shook her head and for a moment I thought she was about to cry, "The other staff refuses to take her on as a patient, they all have their plates full and—Er, I know you aren't usually counseling the inmates here but you're the only one trained for it _and_...the board had you approved. I'm here to inform you of your new patient although the official memo will come in the morning."

Now I'm babysitting killers...Honestly, does no one have respect for my talents?

"Very well then, please carry on with your duties."

"Oh and Dr. Crane?"

Why was she still here?

"Yes?"

"I like your sweatervest..." sheepishly, she ducked out of my office allowing me to finally give in to my temptation to groan deeply and hold my head in my hands.

...Two Weeks Later...

Today's session would be interesting enough...

Although my new 'crazie' had been assigned to me at the beginning of the month, numerous escape attempts and hostile behavior had consequentially delayed our first session. Even 'memo' I had received had been vague and unhelpful; other than a physical description and warnings of her volatile behavior I was left in the dark. As if that weren't bothersome enough, the police report was hardly of any use considering that I would be receiving it today—Yet it was supposed to arrive _after_ I met with my personal nutter.

So here I was, rushing in late from my house on account of oversleeping. For a moment I stood outside my own office door and mentally prepared myself before walking in.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Crane. I'll be your psychiatrist for the duration of your stay."

I walked by her and placed a hand on her shoulder in a casual manner in order to gauge her reaction. Interestingly enough she flinched—

Oh, what did I have here?

I sat down at my desk, deeply enjoying the irony of the situation...Interestingly enough the police reports were already waiting on my desk. After quickly scanning them, I took into account what they said:

Well, it seems a certain Ms. Revis hadn't been a very honourable mortician while I've been busy...

-**-REVIS POV-**-

Time passed...

Hours changed...

The pain continued...

The strain of the light grew...

However, I remained stoic to it all...

I attempted to leave, to succeed in escaping...

But they only caged me in again and again and again...

The grey lasted longer and father and deeper than I had thought...

The recession continued, burring my trauma, my fear, deep inside of me..

I was here, I was captive, I was forced to stay, but I knew as long as I was able, I'd never give in...

…

"Hello, I'm Dr. Crane. I'll be your psychiatrist for the duration of your stay."

The words echoed in my head as he walked by me placing his hand on my shoulder—Dark flashes of twisted _things_ passed through my mind.

I flinched and lowered myself in my seat, hoping he hadn't noticed but upon his quick glance I knew he did.

Why was I able to feel anything?

I had my Arkham jumpsuit on and he didn't touch any of my bare skin...Perhaps since he dealt with so many dark patients, their energy now clouded over his?

Confused, I looked up at the sadly familiar doctor before me as he sat himself down behind his desk, obviously enjoying the superiority of the situation. Apart from his chilling, blue eyes which grew harder to look in as the seconds past and the air of arrogance he put off, nothing was remarkable about him. He wore a suit with the usual tie and button down shirt—I mean this guy wore a _sweater-vest_, how much of a threat could he be aside from his prior knowledge of me?

—Then again his eyes were too cold for my liking.

I broke the gaze between us and surveyed the office I was in: soft chairs, table here, psychology textbooks in shelves there...all in all, it added up to a unusually boring room. Then again, it wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for the too bright, white of the walls or the irking florescent lights; of course, the blinding glow of my orange jumpsuit didn't help.

He cleared his throat causing me to quickly look at him then stare at the wall just above his shoulder, "Revis, is it?"

Hmph, as if he didn't know already...Even so, I said nothing.

"Do you have another, more preferable, name?"

I stared at the pattern of his blue and silver tie...it reminded me of a noose.

I blinked then replied in a small voice, "According to Arkham my name is Patient 81395."

I quickly glanced to his eyes, checking for any signs of aggression but he kept his face perfectly blank—_too_ blank.

Blank like the walls; blank like the tiles; blank like the blurred faces of everyone; blank like the monotonic drones of society—utterly blank: a prison of silence and absence; blank.

"Would you prefer I address you as Patient 81395?" he asked, cockily raising an eyebrow.

Momentarily ignoring him, I glanced about the room to better take in the slight red threads of the other chair's brown and red, pinstripe design.

Soon, I looked back long enough to say, "Considering the current circumstances, I doubt my preference would hold much sway," then I returned to studying the red on the chair while keeping all my senses on the man sitting behind the desk in front of me.

Yes, what better circumstances than the one I am in which forces me to be 'counseled' by the very psychiatrist I had been investigating. Perhaps, if I dug up enough information, I'd be assigned to a new doctor—or better yet released?

Then again, that whole 'insane' label I had on my head might put a damper on my 'lucidity' and 'verifiable' testimony. Not to mention, I'd have to collect the data first hand which meant either keeping track of dates or writing down each occurrence...In other words, it was unlikely.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dr. Crane lean in slightly, folding his pale hands together, "In here only the mind can grant you power."

I laughed bitterly and looked at him with slightly narrowed eyes, "They say the mind is the greatest weapon but no one ever said it was also a two-edged blade."

His eyes flashed with something I couldn't catch but it didn't look like anger...so then was it mirth? After all, we played a game of wits and now I was within his asylum...and now everything was tinged with a sick irony.

He gave me a small, condescending smile and replied, "It was implied."

My mouth twisted in a grimace as I looked back to the striped chair. The chair in question was actually quite ugly but it had colour which was more than the facility and architecture of Arkham could boast.

Even so, the promise of colour couldn't distract me from the unease I felt here—It wasn't simply the fact that the inmates were violent and disturbed, or that I was in an asylum, but because of the strange, twisted energy flowing off from him. I caught vague sensations: pleasure and power were the strongest, saturating the room with its taint, but underlying those emotions I felt residue energy left from _other_ patients which was filled with slight anger...then fear and a lot of it.

So much in fact, I felt choked by it.

Abruptly, I looked back at him again, "Dr. Crane, do you like to play games? Because I don't. Yet if you insist on playing games, at least follow the rules."

In other words, we both know how this situation is simply a poor joke. I was part of an investigation on you and your asylum and now I'm within your asylum and all the power lies in your hands. This was more than a usual doctor-patient scenario, this was verging on personal...So then would it be direly professional?

He raised both his eyebrows, quickly then leaned back, and replied, "What rules would I abide to? I'm the head psychiatrist at Arkham. My word is law here...Whatever games I want to play, whatever I want to do, I will; petty complaints from mental patients aside."

There that just confirmed my suspicions...Not only would I not be able to speak out but there was something wrong at the asylum.

Damn him...

I didn't bother looking up again. I didn't want to see the smug look on his face or the arrogance he held himself with; however, a trickle of fear ran up and down my spine—

He was right.

He held the power to drug and reduce my already scattered mentality to nothing. He was able to keep me in isolation—or worse, leave me here forever.

Then again, wasn't that the point? I was in Arkham and the only reprieve was 'rehabilitation' then a paid trip to Blackgate Penitentiary. There were no other options except escape or death.

Shrugging off my racing thoughts, I replied easily, "Surely someone such as yourself, who holds his reputation with much esteem, should not mistake well earned pride and well founded ambition for conceited airs that will lead to your fall.

'For you are merely Icarus, flying higher than father psychology warned—Flying higher and higher until you're ignited by the sun. Then you'll take your fall from grace, burning brightly as an example to others who press the natural boundaries."

I knew I was playing with fire but I felt that I should take a stand, even a small one, so that I wouldn't be consumed by that very fear that clung to him...

Not his fear but the fear _of_ him.

After all, even without me the investigation would continue and maybe he'd be fired before much time had passed. Yet there was a thin line between taking a stand and falling into a trap...I could only hope that I was far from the latter of the two.

Upon feeling his gaze bore into me, I met his eyes once again. His face remained painfully blank but his smug voice showed me just how dangerous of a position I was in, "Such ideals are just that: idealistic. You're in _my_ asylum and you're _my_ patient. Your word is just that of a mad girl."

I lowered my eyes, feeling the sting of his words, "I'd like to go back to my cell."

"Didn't you just state that your desires didn't matter?"

I looked up at him, feeling my fascade slip and a rush of sick power...

I wanted to break him.

With a sadistic smile, I felt my anger fuel my resolve.

"No..." I said, rising steadily and walking towards his desk slowly, "My _desires_, are entirely different than my preferences."

I sat on the edge of his desk as he viewed me calmly although I could see something stirring within his energy, something dangerous.

Ignoring the uneasy feeling, I continued on, feeling my power rise up and knowing _I _ had all the advantage I'd need to have him break.

"I desire to see humanity on its knees, bowing to fate; humbled by their mortality. I desire to be alone, apart from society. I desire to wipe that smug expression off your face and maybe do a few experiments while I'm at it..."

All the while I had been talking, I leaned toward him with a too wide smile on my face yet suddenly I drew back a few feet, somewhat mortified yet also feeling justified at my rebellion.

How would he retaliate?

It was too soon for me to give out my hand just as it was all to easy for him to take measures that would ensure I wouldn't be aware to see anything play out...even my death. Either way I schooled my features then looked downward as I spoke in my quiet voice which was now revealed to be restrained and controlled instead of meek.

"Yet I'd _prefer_ to be taken back to my cell."

He was quiet for a moment before he pressed the call button and spoke briefly with the guards on the other side of the door via technology because he just _had_ to show his superiority off by using a damn intercom instead of walking me to the door himself. Despite knowing the threat he posed, I found myself disgusted with his ego.

Maybe I _should_ experiment on him?

If I isolated him from the emergency button and found some object in the room to silence his screams with, I'd be set.

After all, how would he smirk without a mouth?

Perhaps I'd tear the offensive lips from his face...Despite my ability to remove the skin more efficiently, I'd prefer to cause him pain—No, I _desired_ it.

Yet how to subdue him?

Before I could carry on my musings, he let go of the button as the door opened simultaneously.

Dr. Crane smiled, having the last word and looking smug as hell because of it, "Well then, I'll be looking forward to our sessions...Revis."


	11. Chapter 9: Silence

**Ello! Minion here! Once more it is Saturday and wow I'm both awed and relieved. Not only has this week been rough but all of your replies and constructive c****riticism have been both helpful and much, much appreicated! Thank you everyone for reading and I hope you all enjoy this chapter! **

**Also I do not in any way, shape, or form own Batman/ Batman Begins although I do own the plot and all original characters with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9<strong>

Silence...

Silence was the absence of noise, of sound, of the vibrations within the air that somehow translated into audible measures which the inner workings of our ear carried to our brain that fired away and processed the vibrations until we understood.

Yet silence was different.

When there was no noise, no sound, no vibrations to carry to our ears which would then pass it on to our brains, there was an absence of thought. Well not true, even our own inner conscious had a voice—if only a mental one...If not then perhaps humans would think in the shape of sounds, light, and feelings...

Yet I digress.

Silence took away four of our senses: the first our hearing, the second our smell, the third our taste, and the fourth our sight. Silence was both odorless, tasteless, and invisible, undetectable to both the human eye and many instruments aside from those that were made just to detect sounds or lack thereof.

However, it was very easy to feel silence. When a human is stripped of a sense the others are heightened. Yet as silence stole away four of our five senses, it left the last extremely sensitive.

The sense of touch, of feeling; the sense of description, of words, of thoughts; the sense of life, silence amplified that sense. There was the heavy weight of a sombre funeral, conducted with solemn voices until that weighted silence descended, dragging on one's heart. There was the electric tension between two lovers as they waited in silence for the other to move, the tingling sensation of apprehension coupled with adrenaline. There was the uneasy shifting of air during an awkward silence, causing everyone to feel on edge and uncomfortable.

Yes, silence evoked the strongest reactions within people.

That's why the silence between Dr. Crane and I stretched out for miles on end. The short journey to his desk (about five or six feet) seemed to bend and warp until I was stuck within my chair, unable to move an inch, too afraid that one shift in posture would shatter the silence and destroy the surroundings causing an apocalyptic shift in time and the fabric of fate, rendering everyone subjectable to a zombie invasion or radioactive waste that would mutate and contaminate the water resources as well as wildlife, which would then cause the countries to tear each other apart in a third world war…Or something like that.

Either way I didn't want to move, I didn't want to speak, I didn't want to do anything...I was thinking. Truthfully, I was confused, well actually, beyond confused. In fact, I was utterly lost and unsure of everything. Although I felt his eyes bore in to me, tearing up my expressionless demeanor and reaching deep inside me to seize the truth, I remained silent. It was obvious to anyone that I was not in the mood to talk. In truth, I was beyond conversation, beyond regular interaction, due to the simply need to think...to understand.

And so the silence continued...

Days changed although the schedule remained the same. I had a hard time adjusting to the daylight hours and often found myself tired to the point of slumbering during bathroom escorts or a session then unable to sleep for the main portion of the night. I was adjusting slowly, but it was a painful, confusing process that only deepened the shadows under my eyes and increased my headaches. As if that wasn't enough, I was watched almost every hour of the day and supervised with extreme scrutiny. Personally, I didn't think I was a threat; it was humanity that had threatened me but now was not the time for that particular reflection.

Dr. Crane was uncharacteristically patient; keeping the silence between us and not adding anything. More often than not, I used this time in 'therapy' to escape the bright lights and grey everything. If I had thought Gotham was grey, I obviously hadn't seen Arkham; although, that statement held a sense of black humor considering my current residence.

Even so, the break of white or bright colours was a welcome one; however, the metal and high tech security ruined the darker effect of the walls. Yet in this room, there were colours that I didn't see regularly; colours I would have soon stopped believing existed, if it weren't for my memories which seemed to grow more distant as the days past. Whenever I tried to think on them, I was met with a grey blob of pain: grey and blobbish because that was the colour of my mind when it refused to compute, as well as the pain that the headache caused.

Things seemed too confusing these days and I knew that I wasn't going to experience much break in the monotony any time soon. Although, I should be grateful for this was more of a selfish vacation from my daily hell than anything else. Here I had no pressure of society, a reprieve I fully intended to enjoy.

After all, there wasn't much information I've gathered on Dr. Crane except his pompous attitude but I doubt that would win a legal court case—assuming that I was even considered a reliable testimony.

Yes, it was most definitely a vacation from one hell to another. Instead of my troublesome coworkers, I was met with new inmates who proved to be some trouble with their crass comments and violent actions.

Although one time, a time which I didn't remember too clearly, I put one of them in their place while showing the rest I wasn't easily taken advantage of.

It happened in art therapy, during a group session as we were painting pictures—For some reason it was thought an insane criminal had the mentality of a four year old and enjoyed splashing around with crayola water paints—It began as one man tried to cop a feel as we sat down causing me to snap.

Interestingly enough the man was still alive...Who knew someone could survive after being stabbed in the throat and shoulders with the edge of the paintbrush while their hair was pulled as their body was twisted into the very same ground which their skull had already been made _quite_ familiar?

Of course, the action placed me in solitary confinement for a few days which only loosened my once strong mental grip while also creating a curious but unsated Dr. Crane. However, my reasons of pensive thought derived from the comment the inmate had made as he was coughing and being pulled away to the infirmary:_ You're just a fucked up patient like the rest of us, but you won't last for long hun'._

It wasn't the implied threat that confused me, it wasn't the attention I received both positive and negative from the rest, and it wasn't the sedation and straightjacket I was forced into while in solitary confinement, it was that one word: _patient_.

Suddenly, I shifted in the chair I was sitting in before I looked up at Dr. Crane with a confused expression, "Dr. Crane," I paused to clear my throat then spoke again, "Dr. Crane, am I a patient?"

He raised an eyebrow then replied, "Yes."

I looked down even more puzzled then licked my lips and swallowed before looking up and asking, "Am I dead?"

His other eyebrow raised but he lowered both quickly and cleared his throat before replying, "No Revis, you are not dead."

My brows furrowed deeper as he continued on.

"Would you prefer to be dead?"

I opened my mouth about to reply, then broke off laughing. When I came to I replied, "Well, doctor, I'm already dying."

He leaned forward slightly, unknowingly betraying his eagerness, "You believe yourself to be dying?"

I nodded.

"I'm dying...you're dying...everyone's dying," I trailed off in a deep monotone which caused my voice to crack towards the end.

He remained still before replying, "Would you care to explain that statement?"

I looked up meeting his eyes and spoke honestly, "With every pump of your heart sending blood to your lungs, then back to your heart, then to your body, then back to your heart; with each inflation of your lungs and each contraction of your diaphragm; with every neurotransmitter that fires off in your brain which both sends and receives thoughts; with each spark of a nerve carried through the spinal cord throughout your nervous system, you're one step closer to that final trigger, that final pump, that final exhale before silence and peace."

"You make a valid point but how did you come to this conclusion?"

"Conclusion? It's a valid fact."

"Yes, but what importance does it hold to your question of being a patient?"

I tilted my head to the right and said, "Everything...When I had my patients they were dead. Now I'm a patient but I'm alive...dying but still alive. Then again, the Ancient Roman doctors weren't allowed to dissect a human body within city limits and were so resigned to using gladiators who lay dying on the sand, out of sight from the crowd of course, as test subjects. It was unfortunate that their surroundings were unclean and hardly beneficial to the procedure or the fact that the lack of medical skills prevented the doctors from observing the anatomy of the human body for longer than a few minutes at best. Then again, I suppose the pain of a live autopsy conducted with clumsy tools only hindered the results..."

"Well Revis, there are different types of patients, some belonging to a doctor in a hospital or a psychiatrist within a mental hospital, or in your case a mortician."

I smile, "It's ironic in a way…We're a patient from the moment we're borne, then throughout our lives, even unto the days after our death..."

He let me end the subject in order to then ask, "That was an interesting reference to the Roman Empire, are you interested in history?"

I shrugged not meeting his eyes instead I trailed along the wood of his desk only to glance up whenever he spoke or I responded, "History used to hold some interest but I learned the most from my Latin class."

He nodded then asked, "For how many years did you take Latin?"

"Four...but I continued to study on my own once I left school."

"Did you enjoy your classes?"

I scoffed and looked up at him with a sarcastic look, "I think that's enough psycho-analyzing for one day, Doctor."

His mouth twisted into a small smirk that jolted me for some reason...

Why did that bother me?

"Did you not notice me analyzing you during the other sessions as you either slept or ignored me...or did you simply not care?"

I blushed slightly then responded, "What is the point in caring when every decision is preplanned? Every second of every routine is already organized and plotted down. Of course, I have some control over what happens but only slight. Within everything I do and whatever I don't, it can only lead to another idea which leans towards more decisions then more observations. It's a cycle I don't see breaking anytime soon." —especially with the lack of evidence and the way this place seemed to drain away all focus.

"You had already stated earlier that your preferences didn't matter, so why would this 'cycle', as you said, surprise you?"

I glared at him in anger before I realized that he was right…My glare then softened as I looked away.

"You know it is said that repeating the same process and expecting a different result is a sign of insanity but then again you're already here, aren't you?"

I glared at him once more, "I didn't know that goading your patients was part of your job, Dr. Crane."

His smirk deepened as he replied, "My job is to rehabilitate my patients to become functioning members of society so they may be transferred to a more appropriate facility for the remainder of their sentence."

Oh yes, just rub it in my face: your double standard line of work.

Ugh, I hated his superiority!

"And you believe that goading patients helps the 'rehabilitation'?"

He cocked his head slightly, "I believe fear is the underlying factor of all psychosis."

"And what does fear have to do with acting like an overconfident asshole?"

He ignored the insult and continued to speak, walking between the line of professionalism and something more, "People tend to fear that which they do not understand; that which angers them. Fear can explain everything about someone. So tell me Revis, are you afraid?"

I looked away.

"Let me clarify, from what I've observed you're usually non-confrontational unless provoked. You tend to avoid others and enjoy solitude. You shy away from any social or physical encounters with others, unless you're attacking them. You mask most of your emotions and have a habit of smiling upon first encounters even when it's all a farce. You try to both hide yourself away and appear normal."

It was getting harder to breathe...

"Revis...you fear humanity."

I shot up and said sharply, "Enough!"

He only smiled his blue eyes lighting up as he said, "Your career working as a mortician distanced you further from social interaction. You tired to become unfeeling and at ease, much like that of your charges," I began to clench my fists as I tried to control my anger, "Yet people tried to draw you out didn't they?"

I exhaled heavily and started to shake.

"Your assistant started it, didn't he? He was the first you killed, the first time you realized you were farther from humanity then you had thought. Then you enjoyed that, rejoiced in it. You think yourself to be something other than human, don't you?"

I took a step forward then took two back until I felt the couch at the back of my legs which threatened to give out. I felt the walls shrinking, endangering me in a white cage much too small.

Dr. Crane stood up and walked towards me leisurely, "You feared those around you, didn't you Revis? You feared what they would do to you," he now stood directly in front of me. I was at eye level with his throat and briefly thought of lunging for him but I restrained myself...but only just, "But most of all you fear yourself...What you've become, what may become of you...and now," He lifted my chin and I flinched back yet he wrapped his other arm around my arms to steady me as he forced me to look into his electric blue eyes, "you fear me as well."

My eyes were wide as I began to slide into his psyche even though I struggled not to. I shook my head as he gripped it and broke in tremors as I fought to free myself. He held me still in a firm grip as I cried out against the horrible, sickening feel of his mind, his energy.

Although I blocked out any thoughts, images, or memories I was unable to deflect the feel of him. It was dark like the thick, cloying musk of incense but as I was overpowered I began to feel addicted...I craved the sinfully, poisonous taste.

I felt his energy as it began to consume me. The feeling of it brought me bursts of zinging clarity as well as a soothing feeling that was both cold and warm like peppermint and spice. Despite my struggles, I was deeply submerged in all of his psyche, amid the darkness and strangeness that was him.

My legs shook terribly before I felt them go slack as he let me fall onto the edge of the couch, leaning over me as he continued to keep contact between us. As I was drowning in his essence I was unable to see past him. It wasn't just the way his dark hair fell forward as his pale face was much too close to my own, but it the _feeling_ of him.

My breathing became shallow as I was suffocated by heat. Pin pricks of pain danced along my chest, neck and arms, spurred on by panic. My skin seemed unable to contain the sensation causing me to shift uncomfortably as though it would be possible to rid myself of the feeling—Ha! As if this were something as simple as an itch. No, this was much worse...it was growing too painf—

Abruptly he released me before taking two steps back in order to observe me.

I struggled to keep my eyes open and breathe regularly. Faintly I heard myself speak.

"Too, too much..." I lay gasping for air, "Too much energy—"

The world dipped then seemed to implode as I fell forward in time with the warping walls and engulfing darkness.

…

Grey.

Once more I was surrounded in grey.

Looking around, I found myself to be in my too small cell which was both ridiculously narrow and long. While thick metal bars offered some protection, I couldn't quite make out the signs outside or the expressions of the guards as they strolled down the halls on their nightly(?) rounds without my glasses.

Once I was certain I was not being attacked, I felt my eyes close—Wait!

Shaking myself awake, I shifted in my poorly dressed cot as I tried to make myself comfortable while stretching the white long sleeve undershirt of my uniform further over my sore arms in an attempt to warm myself.

As my eyes traveled over the grey walls of the bare room, I decided to use this time in order to think...I'd have to break my silence in order to ask Dr. Crane if I could receive a few personal items from my apartment—Wait, what happened to my apartment?

I knew the rent had been paid for but I'm sure the more than a month has already passed—besides, the food would have spoiled by now.

Nevermind that, if my apartment was unavailable then I would at least ask for my glasses. Although this place was hellish, I'd prefer to see it in clarity lest the blur of my vision worsen everything.

Yes, I'd definitely have to ask Dr. Crane the next time I saw him...Yet strangely enough I had trouble remembering my last session...or was it the last two?

I think I had at least talked with him because I no longer felt confused...but I also felt something in my head, like a barrier I couldn't pass. The more I thought on it the more painful it became so I decided it was best to leave it be.

Damn this place! So entrapped within the beast of Arkham I was infected by its confusing, warped taint. I could practically feel my efforts at escape weakening...Even my meager hope in 'Gotham's finest' was reduced to a blackened, shriveled thing...

For a moment a dash of fear shot through me.

Was I truly alone? Would I be forgotten in this hell until Dr. Crane ended our 'sessions' in whatever manner he pleased?

The uncertain questions continued to swirl around my mind but I was unable to find any answers.

And so I sat...alone...in the grey silence.


	12. Chapter 10: Maggots

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to once again thank all my wonderful readers and reviewers for gracing my humble yet demented story with your presence-because wow it's been such a stressful week and your kind words give me that electric jolt of happiness that has me grinning like a fool for hours ^-^**

**To explain further (on my stressful week), I had the 'experience' of using Dr. Crane (mainly his childhood) as the focus of my major, month long, project for English. Originally, I was estatic as I had gotten the 'Batman Year One: Two-Face and Scarecrow' comic last month and have obsessing over it every chance I get-sadly and embaressingly I realize that the comic and my personal backstory I wrote ('Jonathan Crane: The Origin of the Scarecrow') were A LOT different. Of course I didn't have the comic and so I relied on internet research but as I learned, there really is no substitute for comics. Anyway, since Dr. Crane is a sadistic bastard, he first allowed me to write as much as I wanted only to later trick me by lessening the amount of inspiration until I was at the bare minimum that was required for each piece. This made writing every part of the project, especially toward the end, a painful struggle. (I just believe he's embaressed/angry that others will be seeing him at his weakest moments). Yet I finally finished the damned project and learned my lesson in relying on fictional characters (especially sadistic ones) to get me through the assignment that determines if I earn a credit for class.**

**Secondly in (somewhat) related news, I've had an awesome (ha ha, that was sarcastic) time playing 'DC Universe Online'. I've played other mmorpgs before with no problem but the layout was so strange I'm having a hard time adjusting; although, it's a great feeling to run around as 'Miss Revis' -someone had already taken 'Revis' as a name...*sighs* You would think it's not a common name to pick but oh well.**

**Now (finally) onto the chapter! This chapter irks me in some ways with Revis' nonchalant manner but trust me that a very sharp reality check is about to arise and the strange, almost *looks both ways suspiciously* _upbeat_ feel of this chapter will not last. **

**Funnily enough, the first time I wrote this, I had an 'awwwww' moment due to the reasoning behind someone's actions-I don't think it's too hard to find but please let me know if you catch the moment! Although, I would like to say now that while the intensity will grow and the stakes will raise, Revis and Dr. Crane have a complicated series of interactions throughout the story and those interactions are more focused on mind games and torture than anything else. **

**Don't worry, the story is in the genre of romance for a reason but know that those two have many dark times of questionable motives and behavior which build a complex relationship. I am almost finished writing the sequel to this and while I cannot begin to explain the many twists and depths of their inner growth caused by various events and each other, there is no quick 'hook up' or some other nonsense like that. I garentee an original experience, one that hopefully chills and excites, but this 'romance' is a darker breed than most and needs time to take form. So don't hold your breath just enjoy the the ride.**

**Also I do not in any way, shape, or form own Batman/ Batman Begins with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10<strong>

When I first walked into Dr. Cranes office, escorted by two guards, I had a plan set in my mind. I had a task, one that I would fight for with everything I had. Unfortunately, this fight required more stealth then a simple stab or threat of injury. Sadly enough, I'd have to negotiate with the damned psychiatrist and seeing my previous track record it would be no easy task to endure.

After all, it was nearly impossible to negotiate with a man who held himself so highly he could hardly see over his upturned nose...Then again, he did have a habit of staring me down from his desk so perhaps his nose was only upturned in certain situations? Or maybe he was so uptight because his skin contained his inner being and under such restriction the true methods and motives of humans were trapped.

Hmm, perhaps I'd free him of his mortal, fleshly confinements?

Momentarily sliding the—oh so tempting—thought to the back of my mind, I took my seat, happy to note that I was more aware of my surroundings than I had been in days. This new change thrilled me and gave me a burst of confidence which I used to steel my posture and look him squarely in the eyes. However, if he noted any change from my usual crouched position and flickering gaze, he gave no indication.

I gave him a pleasant smile and by habit tilted my head a few degrees to the right as I prepared myself to start the conversation. Although a bit of tact may be needed...

Subtly, I glanced at his desk only to find the utter absence of a coffee cup or a random article of paper which I could comment on for small talk...

Oh well, I'll just cut into the heart of the matter.

"Revis, today I'd like to discuss your medication," he said in his usual calm and collected tone that barely avoided a monotonic ring.

Shocked, I opened my mouth as my eyes widened.

No, this was not supposed to happen!

Quickly I recovered before smiling once more and speaking in a lilting voice—quite the change compared to my usual quiet monotone, "I'm sure you have much experience in your line of work," Damn, that sounded to much like my previous insult on our first meeting, "but I must assure you that any form of medication is unnecessary."

His expression remained the same, the only difference was the amused glint in his too cold eyes, "And how exactly do you intend to 'assure' me, Revis?"

I straightened my posture while maintaining eye contact as I tried to contain my nerves, "Surely there's no need to fix what is not broken—Ugh I'm sorry, I hate idioms—"

I froze, blushing at my mistake and mentally kicking myself before I faced him again while fighting the hot embarrassment that ran shot through me, "What I meant to say was, there's no need to medicate me when I am in control of myself."

He raised an eyebrow then asked smugly, "I suppose then, attacking another patient in the cafeteria with a stick of celery, as you did yesterday, is considered 'in control'?"

I widened my smile nervously and licked at my lips, "It was merely self defense..."

"Would you care to elaborate? After reviewing the surveillance footage it was seen that the woman passed you without incident and you suddenly lunged at her. I hardly call that self defense."

I opened my mouth to answer but remembered the real reason I attacked her...the energy that surrounded her was so strong I was able to momentarily see into her thoughts. It was the sights there that drove me to attack.

I had no tolerance with women who offered themselves up to those in a higher position just to reap the benefits but it was upon feeling her repulsion that caught my attention. I reached out with interest trying to sense more and I stumbled upon a memory.

Her grandfather had molested her as a child, then when he had died she left him rotting in the attic only visiting to burn the skin or further mutilate his body. Whether or not he deserved it was not the question at hand. As soon as his heart ceased he belonged into my realm. I knew there were corrupt people but even those who were sick held reasons which could be understood even if it was only for a moment. _I_ was justified in my actions; however, I wouldn't be able to explain that to him.

"Revis?" he prompted as I fell silent.

I looked up sharply, unaware that I had lowered my gaze, "Oh, I'm sorry I just—I mean, nevermind."

He cleared his throat, "As I was saying before, today we're discussing your medication—"

I glared at him, unable to keep up my front for long, "I'm not taking medicine."

I doubted the 'cafeteria food' was to blame for that man's chemical irregularities and I would not be subject to the same treatment.

"Well you simply don't have a choice, this is for observational purposes. Hopefully, you'll react well with the medicine and make better progress within your treatment."

I shook my head, "You don't know what I'm allergic to or if I have been on any previous medicine. Even if was to take it, nothing would change because it's impossible to determine exactly what the cause of the problem is. Medication simply smothers over everything and is a very risky attempt at treatment. What if the medication caused an imbalance somewhere else and no one knew until the effects were irreversible? Then if somehow I were to be transferred to Blackgate Penitentiary I'd be stuck popping pills regularly, that's a suicide attempt waiting to happen."

He looked at me briefly then replied, "Are you suicidal?"

I scoffed then looked at him, "Why would I be?"

"Revis, let me see your arms," he asked smoothly.

I shifted uncomfortably but said nothing.

"I've read from your file you had deep cuts but I would like to see them for myself."

I swallowed and looked away then replied hoarsely, "I'm not suicidal..."

"As well as that may be, I still need to see your arms."

I shook my head and shrunk back into my seat struggling to control my panic and unease. I was _not_ expecting this to happen. Not at all. I was supposed to ask for my things and perhaps work out some truce until the investigation would conclude and then I was to either be released or have the opportunity to escape yet this...whatever this was, did not bode well.

He sighed audibly then rose from his desk and steadily walked towards me.

I laughed nervously and said, "This isn't very professional, Dr. Crane."

In fact I doubt much of your work _is_ professional.

He smiled tightly, effectively killing any warmth in the expression, "I believe the well being of my patient is well within my profession."

I exhaled sharply and turned away once more wishing I could melt into the chair I was sitting in but I had no such luck and soon saw the smooth material of his suit's pants. I knew this was the warning stage, either I cooperated or resisted...and I sure as hell was not listening to this man.

He didn't even speak, instead he simply reached for my arm causing me to flinch and try to pull back but I had no means of escaping his tight grip. The fabric of the white, long sleeve undershirt that concealed my arms until the ugly orange shirt took over, bothered me but I knew it was better to suffocate in the clothing than reveal what lay underneath. My breath hitched and I once more tried to struggle but he merely pulled my sleeve up then quickly repeated the process with my other arm. Before I could react, he held both my wrists steady as he looked at my bloodied arms.

I tried to ignore the warmth of his hands (although they were in fact cool against my too hot and itchy skin) and fought back his energy as best I could—although, his spike in emotions felt like a dagger to my chest. I tried to breathe through the icy claw that captured my lungs as I felt first his shock then anger. Anger?

I looked down at my arms viewing the scarred skin that I had split open again with my nails. Long marks from my nails trailed along the edge of the cuts in an attempt at secrecy but as the other cuts healed I settled for making new markings.

He exhaled quietly but I was so hyper-aware I heard it clearly. He grabbed both my wrists in one hand (at this point I gave up fighting) and reached into his suit. Occasionally, he'd mutter something but I couldn't make out the phrases beyond the deafening silence of disappointment and cruel words that rang in my head.

Why did I have to speak? Why did I have to do anything at all? It was obvious I had no control in this place, my request wouldn't have mattered, and now I'd never know...

He murmured something too quiet for me to hear then looked at me with sharp eyes I could only meet for a second, "Revis, this is only a diluted dose of...my medicine. Although its effects are greatly dulled, it'll serve its purpose here."

I couldn't help my curiosity as I looked up with eyes that burned and threatened to well up with tears but suddenly a small cloud of something puffed into my face. At first I blinked in surprise and a tear rolled down my cheek but then I coughed a bit on the odd taste until—What was that?

My skin felt itchy, more so that usual. I tried to free my arms which he allowed and moved back a considerable distance. When I looked at my arm I couldn't understand what the cause was. I felt along my cuts and accidentally pulled on a scab which triggered a spark of pain. I closed my eyes against the pain then opened them—Ugh what was _that_?

There was something crawling under my skin, I saw it moving sluggishly. My eyes widened and I pressed my hand against it and felt it move around the pressure which caused me to yelp and jerk my arm away.

I swallowed looking at my arm in suspicion. In response the hairs on my arms and neck stood up as I felt uneasy all over. I shifted and looked at my other arm then almost screamed. Something was wiggling over there too. It moved its way to a raw cut and seeped out. At this I opened my mouth to scream but stopped myself as I noticed what exactly it was...a maggot?

I cocked my head and simply picked it up then threw it on the floor...Odd, very odd indeed. I was calming down a bit until I noticed more lines struggling under my skin. I shook my my head and my lower lip trembled.

No, there couldn't be more—Oh, but there was.

Curiously enough, they struggled to the surface and began pouring out from my cuts. Of course this stun and burned but the onslaught of insects kept coming. I began to pick off each one carefully but soon the became too much and then began to cover my arm. My heart pounded as I tried to flick them off but I yelped as one bit my finger.

Oh dear, not this...

Soon the rest seemed to crave a bite and began to claw open my skin. I shook my head and stood only to fall as my legs gave out from shaking too much.

This wasn't how maggots behaved, this wasn't even physically possible! Yet somehow it happened...and I couldn't stop it.

They began to devour me alive and I shook my right arm in hopes of shaking the free. Unfortunately one landed on my face and began to eat the skin there as well. I wailed slightly and tried to pick it off but more followed. My breath was coming in quickly and I looked to Dr. Crane with pleading eyes yet he only observed me eagerly, eyes flickering over every movement I made.

I opened my mouth to ask for help, because surely he saw them, how could he not? But instead they jumped into my mouth. I stood on my knees looking at my arms in horror while struggling not to scream while more explored my mouth...

Then I began to laugh.

I laughed softly at first, then harder as I saw them devour my flesh. Somehow, I was beyond the pain and tilted my head enjoying the sight before me. Here I was being consumed by maggots, how interesting! This was such an experience I could learn from. I felt myself become detached and morbidly curious.

I wonder how they would work, how they would interact with each other. Would they fight over food? Burrow into my skin to make a rotting home with an edible interior?

A genuine smile crossed my face as I felt one squish in my mouth, the body turning into a foul paste.

Hmm, I wonder what caused that taste. Was it simply my human taste-buds which rejected the concoction or was it a defense mechanism?

How curious these simple creatures were. Hopefully, I'll live long enough to see at least one full life cycle of these insects.

I sighed happily, caressing some of the bugs before chuckling as they began to devour my hand with eagerness. Oh there goes the outermost layer! Ah, all the way down to the bone—Hmm, maggots disliked bones but these strange creatures seemed to have no aversion to the hardened structure as they drilled into that as well.

I smiled and closed my eyes then laid down on the floor feeling them squirm within me. How peaceful—Suddenly the feeling ceased.

I lay still for another moment then sat up and peered around at my skin. Sadly, it was back to normal.

Where did all the maggots go?

I looked at Dr. Crane who regarded me with furrowed eyebrows.

I stood and stretched slightly, looking over my arms once more, then I looked him in his blue eyes, "Do you have some more?"

He seemed shocked and asked cautiously, "More of what exactly?"

"Those maggots...they were quite curious creatures."

He nodded slightly as if to himself then replied, "I'm afraid not...May I ask how you feel?"

I tilted my head thinking for a second, "A bit off honestly. At first I was panicked, I mean those _things_ were," I broke off shuddering in horror as I remembered them as they were curled beneath my skin. I took a deep breathe then started up again, "However, once I realized I was going to die I found it amusing, almost endearing that I could cater to those creatures one last time. The pain was bothersome at first but that too faded...Although, I've never seen maggots consume flesh so furiously or effectively, let along _living_ flesh—Perhaps it was a new breed?"

He looked at me strangely, "You weren't bothered by the fact you were being eaten alive by millions of maggots?"

I shook my head, "Nope, it shocked me at first but I found myself simply fascinated...After all, it was a curious sight indeed."

"You weren't scared?" he asked almost desperately.

"Scared? Of course I was, that was the most disturbing thing I've ever seen but..."

"But?" he prompted.

"It was quite amusing from a third person's point of view. I mean, I clearly felt everything but from a detached sense it was quite captivating."

"Captivating?" he echoed.

I nodded then sat back down on the chair and lazily regarded the room, "Yep, now about that medicine..."


	13. Chapter 11: Motives and Madness

**Ello! Minion here! First, I would like to thank everyone who has reviewed and read my story! Honestly, reading those reviews make my entire week pass by in a bubbly haze of 'Woo!' ^-^**

**Secondly, I have good news! My semester is over so I will be free to write and write and write until my fingers are cramped and worn to the bone ^-^ My goal is to have my writing finished in such a manner that there will be a smooth succession of updates every week until the entire series is done and seeing as I have almost a year's worth of updates waiting to be posted, I'd say I'm at a decent start-Knock on wood *knocks on wood***

**Thirdly, I have even better news! I posted another background fic (this one is written much better than the other one and actually follows the comic, pannel for pannel except for a small flashback) called 'Granny's Secret' so if you're interested in reading a descriptive, third person POV, present tense story of Dr. Crane's _actual_ past then please read your heart away~**

**Although I will be using my other background fic "Jonathan Crane: The Origin of the Scarecrow" for references and plot movements, I just wanted to write "Granny's Secret" both for my English project and as a tribute fic to Dr. Crane's past. Whenever I post a chapter, if necessary, I'll be sure to highlight if the chapters reference something from the story or not.**

**Lastly, the 'vocab' for this chapter is as follows: SI Watch = Self Injury Watch**

**Also I do not in any way, shape, or form own Batman/ Batman Begins with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 11<strong>

I hate that man...

I hate him with a passion. I hate his too smooth suit. I hate his sophisticated office. I hate his condescending attitude. I hate his smug smile. I hate his authority. I hate his full lips that spewed lies. I hate his quiet and measured voice that delivers the very lies he forces me to believe. I hate his mind: how the blasted grey matter filters through everything effortlessly then comes to an undeniable conclusion. I hate how powerless I am around him. I hate the fact that he holds my life in his hands...and he knew it.

Not only did he understand his utter control over my life, he exercised it. Not only did he twist whatever chance I had in this hell but he gloated over it. Not only did he betray me—

Well not betray me...He couldn't have because I hadn't trusted him to begin with. Well perhaps, I did a little—Yet only in the general manner, the kind of trust one gives to others to not poison them or attack when vulnerable. Even so, he betrayed me.

Not only did he poison my blood, my body, my mind with his blasted 'medicine' but he also pulled me further into his sick mind game.

Although, I was certain he would have notified the orderlies of my self inflicted injuries he hadn't...Of course, the _fear_, the black, twisting, mortifying _thing,_ that haunted me, prevented me from so much as scratching an itch. It was just as he had planned and as much as I fought against it he had me submissive.

I couldn't rebel against him openly else he _would_ notify the orderlies of my injuries and I'd be placed under SI watch. He held this power as long as my wounds were unhealed but the irony was stronger.

The irony of the matter lied within the matter itself. I was too fearful, too scared, to even think of injuring myself again but as long as my once lovely (now threatening) marks showed vividly against my pale skin, he was able to further the security, scrutiny of my stay.

Of course, the sickening game only continued as he placed me under medication...

Yes, the very notion which I had rebelled against was in fact practiced upon me the next day.

I was confused when two orderlies entered the room half way through our session and immediately I became distracted. I felt caged, uneasy...and all for a worthy reason. They gestured toward me and Dr. Crane nodded.

Then the fight began.

One neared me while the other wrapped around the couch, trapping me. I stood up attempting to swallow the panic boiling under my skin which forcing my heart to beat painfully in my too tight chest.

Too many, too close, what were they doing?

The one in front of me didn't bother smiling and simply neared me with no weapon in sight but my senses were heightened and I felt too paranoid to believe I was experiencing an emergency escort to my cell.

I quickly racked my mind.

No, I don't think Dr. Crane pressed the call button...So why were they here?

I turned sideways so I was able to look at both of them as they neared me—Was that a syringe? I jumped at the realization and then scrambled up and over the couch. Of course, the one not carrying the needle followed hot in pursuit, a pursuit which ended painfully. I turned to run for the door but quickly realized that there would only be more of _them_ within the halls. So instead I angled to the bookcase where I grabbed a random ornament used to support books and held it within my hand as they neared me.

This wasn't good, this wasn't good, shit shit shit!

I had a hard time breathing and the two men seemed menacing as they neared swiftly. I looked to Dr. Crane with a silent plea yet he only stood closer pretending to be concerned but as soon as the men were focused on me he smirked, the light playing with his too blue eyes.

Damn him, he only wanted a better view.

Three feet away now—Shit. Which one would I throw it at? One would restrain me while the other would inject; one had free hands but the other had a lethal poison. The man on my left took a step forward and I chose. Quickly I threw it at the other man's head while darting in between the two but unfortunately I fell.

Yes, within my moment of freedom and prided escape my clumsiness was my downfall...literally.

I fell hard on the floor, quickly curling into a crawling position in order to protect myself as the men descended on me; however, I was unable to restrain the shrill scream which echoed in my own ears as they wrestled with me.

I was pulled up and awkwardly stretched so the other man would have a cleaner injection but I only struggled more. I kicked and shook and tried to bash my head back, wishing desperately that I had something to stab them with but it was in vain.

The man who restrained me was stronger than I was and did not make light of this fact. My face flushed with fury and indignation while my panicked side slipped away as I smiled and the man who neared me. Suddenly, I lunged at him causing him to flinch away. A dark laugh escaped me as I cocked my head to the side and gazed at him with my most sincere smile.

It would be fun to kill him.

The man behind me pulled on my arms painfully and I went limp in his arms. The effect threw him off guard for a second as I whipped my head back allowing it to connect with his shoulder. Even so, I was half way out from his forced embrace when I felt a sharp sting on the juncture between my neck and shoulder.

I yelped and twisted away in order to first claw the mans face then seize him in a tight grip around his neck. I batted away his hands and shoved his head into the sofa—Or at least I would have if the man behind me hadn't recovered and managed to restrain me properly.

My head spun painfully and I glared at the couch before directing my anger at the man responsible: Dr. Crane.

I glared at his icy eyes as he asked the men in a calm voice if I was less of a threat. The one restraining me shrugged while the other replied that the first dose due to my 'hostility' was increased but my other doses would be regulated and lessened. Most the words went over my head as I continued to heatedly glare at Dr. Crane while my face contorted into a snarl.

Somewhere behind me, I heard the door open allowing more orderlies to step inside and begin fitting me into a straightjacket. So overwhelmed by everyone and unable to struggle, I settled for devoting all my pain and agony, all my fear and uncertainty, into the most passionately, loathing look I could muster. Yet he only met my gaze calmly, seemingly unfazed.

Although my legs shook and I felt sick to my stomach, I kept eye contact. Distantly, I heard him ask the orderlies to escort me to my cell but I refused to break my gaze. I held his eyes with my own until I was forced to turn around and walk through the door. Surprisingly, I felt a tear roll down my face and I prayed he hadn't seen it.

Now almost a week later, I was back within his office and I was definitely worse. My hate hadn't lessened—No, if anything, it had mutated to extreme lengths within the absence of his infuriating smirk and too cold, blue eyes.

How was I worse then?

What could possible wear me down more than a sick bastard of a psychiatrist or the fact I was prisoner within an asylum? What was worse than being tormented everyday with too bright lights and too loud inmates? What weakened me more than the horrid energy and restraints I was forced into?

Medicine...My 'medication' was the bane of my existence.

Each morning and each night I was forced to take my pills under the close watch of an orderly. Each day I grew weaker and more detached. The medication calmed me to the point I wanted to paint the walls with the employee's blood—Well, moreso than usual.

However, the effects were a bit more stronger than my will. It was hard to plan revenge when my mind was constantly weighted by a numbing pressure that obliterated any attempt at hostile or productive thought. The only effect more frightening, more terrifying, than not being able to **think** correctly, was to be taken under by the overflow of energy that I was unable to block out or filter.

"How are you feeling today, Revis?" Dr. Crane asked smugly from behind his dark desk.

I licked my lips while taking a slow, heavy breath and lazily regarded him. I was about to reply but decided it wasn't worth the effort—Besides, my nose itched but I was still restrained within my straightjacket as a 'safety precaution' so I was unable to so much as rub it.

Was this how it began for my patient?

At first, I was wary to see too much into his past for the overwhelming emotions and chaotic thought patterns were painful to shift through but I clearly recall the horrible monsters appearing at night followed by monthly visits to Dr. Crane in order to 'adjust' his medication or some other nonsense...

Would that happen to me?

He moved slightly in his seat then tried another angle, "Have you noticed any improvements while under your medication?"

I blinked at him sarcastically but held my silence.

He sighed lightly, "Revis, for any progress to be made you'll have to cooperate. I'm sure you wouldn't prefer a more...undesirable method of treatment?"

I looked at him suspiciously but remained silent.

"It would be too early to endure such an ordeal but I have the resources to finalize your placement within such a procedure."

"..."

"I'm sure that you aren't exactly comfortable within that _unnecessary_ restraint."

I raised my eyebrow but continued to regard him with contempt. He neared me and against my will I flinched.

He chuckled darkly as he neared me, "Oh Revis, you shouldn't fear me just yet..."

I shuffled slightly, careful to not topple over but he neared me cautiously and undid my restraints.

What exactly was he planning?

It took him a bit of time—honestly, I would have gotten it off sooner—yet he continued to work at the buckles as he leaned over me, his light cologne washing over me soothingly. His warmth enveloped me in a safe sanctuary within his arms as he began to unwrap the long straps behind my back.

This wasn't right...

Perhaps it was due to my oppressed mind or the fact I had felt his energy deeply once before, but I felt soothed by his presence. I hated him, loathed him with a passion yet he somehow relaxed me.

The last bit was easy as he slid the harness off of my frame. I looked at him, confused and guarded. He didn't smile, didn't smirk, didn't do anything but return my gaze, "Now will you be more compliant?"

I paused and saw his fingers tighten over the straightjacket then nodded.

"Good choice..." he turned his back to me and slowly walked to his seat showing me how pathetic and harmless he thought I was.

It irked me but I was powerless to do anything. For a moment, it reminded me of my earlier, more unstable years when I was ruled by my minds crazed logic, unable to function as well as I should.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked looking at me pointedly.

Hmm, another move within his game. I played along or he placed the restraints back...

That bastard.

I opened my mouth with the fullest intention of lying but somehow the truth came out, "Of my past."

"What of it?" he pressed.

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes against the pressure in my head as I struggled to focus, "Of my...more unstable years."

He raised an eyebrow and made a note of that but said nothing.

I licked my lips and shifted nervously, feeling antsy for some reason. However, I was grateful for the change to my previously, too still behavior. I felt everything come back up to the surface and found myself speaking although I tried desperately not to.

"Ever have that feeling of nostalgia? Feeling that rings true in your head. Just reviewing the past without regret or longing. Just reliving the moment?"

He nodded as a way to keep me talking but I needed no prompting.

"I don't have that. I can hardly remember clearly what happened let alone what I was feeling or what I should feel. Feelings were always bittersweet..."

Damn, I needed to shut my mouth now before—

"It seemed that there was always two main emotions that conflicted each other. I'd be happy but angry. I'd feel calm but caged...Then again being so random, so unstable, hardly helped."

My mind screamed at me to shut up but I was unable to.

"Of course, some people tried to help. Whether or not it worked depended on the time and the person..."

I smiled slightly despite my inner turmoil as I remembered my closest friend.

"Do you feel that way, conflicted, now?" he asked in a tone I couldn't read.

I nodded loosely, "Yes, I can't stop talking right now. I hate it. I wish I could just shut up but the words just keep coming and coming and coming," I frowned, "Oh no there I go again babbling. I always had a hard time with that," I softly laughed, "Then again I haven't had someone to talk to in awhile—Not since, well, not since Sable."

"Sable?" he asked, gripping his pen tightly as he wrote down the name.

I nodded distantly, "Sable Lukk, we met in a chemistry class my sophomore year. She was the only one to get close to me—The only one that _could_, now that I think about it."

He paused for a moment, thinking, then asked, "What happened?"

I looked up at him with saddened eyes, "She left to college and eventually our conversations and e-mails became nonexistent," I shrugged, "I suppose she was just caught up in her new life. So many new experiences and people, I doubt she missed the strange sophomore she used to know. Yet as I grew older and graduated, I was planned to move to Canada, become a baker," I looked up smirking at the irony, "Funny how things change."

He was still for a moment then recovered, "Why didn't you leave to Canada?"

I paused then shook my head. I held my head in my hands and sighed irritably.

"Revis?"

It was too hot...

I ran a hand through my hair, tightening my grip.

"I suggest you cooperate..." he said in a threatening reminder.

I struggled to collect myself then looked up at him with a sickeningly happy smile as I replied in a slightly strained voice, "What's there to tell? I didn't leave, I became a mortician, and here I am now."

"Plans to move abroad don't abruptly change, let alone your career choice. What happened?"

"What?" I croaked out, "I just didn't move, there's no great secret."

"Remember your cooperation Revis, you agreed to participate under the threat of a more demanding procedure."

"What do you want from me? I told you what happened." I asked feeling broken and over-worked.

He smirked but chose to not answer the question, instead he began to beat his pen down on his desk in a steady rhythm, "Continue with your recollection."

I lowered my head and tiredly rubbed at my eyes, "I'm done."

He raised an eyebrow and looked at me condescendingly, "Is that so? Well then, I suggest you begin another."

I exhaled sharply in anger, that nerve of his! How dare he!

"What use is it for me to ramble on about my past? Are you hoping to find some inkling of who I really am? What use would it be? I destroyed all my records, burned my birth certificate, social security, and all other legal documents. There's no point, I don't exist."

"My motives are my own; however, you have no choice but to comply."

I glared although I had a feeling the effect was ruined by my reddened eyes as they stun with my anger, "Do I now?"

"Yes," he replied, "If you refuse then I'll only have to make a phone call and in a few weeks maybe even in a few days you'll earn yourself a place within the waiting list."

"To what?"

"Have you ever heard of electroconvulsive therapy?"

I shook my head trying to hide my horror. I knew exactly what it was...but wasn't that illegal?

"It is rarely used except for extreme cases, such as your own. Although your management of severe depression is _heartwarming_, electroconvulsive therapy would better treat unresponsive, _confused_ suicidal patients as a last resort—"

"I'm not—"

"Oh but those marks on your arms say otherwise. Understand the effect you've had on the staff at Arkham. You've been nothing but a nuisance, always resorting to violence, trying to escape, wearing on the orderlies, and threatening anyone who lingers too long. Although, you're a fairly recent case it's been two months since you've been admitted and those two months may seem _very_ long to certain administrators."

"This would serve no purpose!" I exclaimed.

"That's where you are wrong. It would serve _my_ purpose and that is reason enough."

"What does elctro—," I broke off to take a deep breath, "What does it even do?"

In other words, what purpose do you have for this _threat_ or do you merely enjoy my disposition. I believe the original thrill of having me as a patient wore off a few weeks ago.

He smiled pleasantly, "Electroconvulsive therapy induces volts of electricity into the mind to trigger an onslaught of spasms to unresponsive, _disorderly_ patients. Of course the patient is given anesthesia to still the worst of the convulsions; however, the effect remains the same. One..._unfortunate_ result is memory loss."

I looked at him with an appalled and grudgingly scared expression, "Why would you—"

"Or perhaps you would enjoy Insulin shock therapy? Sadly enough, it is rarely used but still efficient. While undergoing Insulin shock therapy the patient is injected with high levels of insulin to induce a coma. This practice goes on for days, about six out of the week for two months. Then on the days when the patient is not in Insulin shock therapy, he," he nodded at me, "or she, is introduced to electroconvulsive therapy. Bothersome effects include spasms, decreased blood glucose, restlessness and so on."

He smirked at me, his blue eyes chilling me to the bone, "Either method requires much effort and pain on the patients part but leads to the desired result: submission. Both procedures induce a recovery rate which is unparalleled by other medicines, although the remissions rate is equally strong. Some have been in the process for years before finally breaking."

I looked at him hopelessly filled with fear and pleading but he only took in my expression, seeming to enjoy my disposition. So caught up in his play on power, he was about to taunt me more but a voice sounded from the speaker, "Five minutes left."

"Oh, it seems our session is almost at its end..." he spoke slowly, savoring my flash of fear and relief.

Needing no prompting, I shot up quickly, fear and adrenaline briefly overriding the zombiefying effects of the medicine. I made it a few steps before stumbling and holding the couch for support. I looked back cautiously at Dr. Crane but he kept his smirk in place.

First submission...but submission to what? Why would he need me taken down further than I already was?

"Revis, do keep in mind the repercussions of disobedience. I wouldn't want you to be so overcome by mania you recede into a _deluded_ state which would force me to switch your prescription to a more calming medication that might induce a cationic state, leaving me no choice but to follow through with my previously mentioned procedures."

I looked at him pained by fear and...well fear. I was so scared I felt weaker than usual and dizzy. My head pounded as the medicine began to wear off but retained some hold over me.

He only smiled once more then looked down to look over his notes as two orderlies suddenly entered the room, looking at me curiously before redressing me in the straightjacket and leading me back to my cell. Although I didn't face the mad man again, I felt his threatening eyes bore into my spine as I walked away.

Why? No that didn't matter...Wondering 'why' would only worsen my condition; worrying was useless to me. I needed facts, I could use facts—But so far the only fact that came to mind was too disturbing to address...

I was trapped further in his sick mind game, cornered by an ultimatum and unable to reach out due to the solitary my own 'insanity' caused. The irony was painfully clear and I felt too choked to fight against my situation.

I needed a plan.

Something, anything, that would grant me leverage over him...but I had nothing.

Nothing to my name, nothing to my life, nothing to my fate. It was all in his hands—and if that was truly the way things were, then I would take it back.

After all, I was Death. My name inspired fear into others. I was absence of life, the total desolation that one felt before peace. I was the unstoppable force that prevailed over life—but could I prevail over fear?


	14. Chapter 12: Submission

**Ello! Minion here!**** What's this? An early update? (it's 11:36 pm on a Friday night) Yep, I'm too tired to wait til after midnight so here's an 'early' update. (Also sorry for any grammar errors, I edit my own work and while I've combed through this chapter many, many times there may still be some errors I've missed due to sleepiness.)**

**Although I would just like to thank everyone for staying with this story, I hope this story has entertained you all and will continue to do so.**

**Also I do not in any way, shape, or form own Batman/Batman Begins with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12<strong>

Submission was an eerie feeling.

I never realized how much I depended on my violence or resistance against those around me or at least in the asylum.

_"Only the mind can grant you power"_ What bullshit!

The mind was exactly what held me prisoner here. In _his _mind games, in _his _asylum, for _his _purposes which were frustratingly enough still unknown to me.

In the face of torture, I agreed to turn away from my usual antics although I failed to see how my behavior actually mattered. I suppose the medicine was to blame as well. I learned a bitter loophole in my medication: while overactive thoughts or feelings of aggression were nearly extinct mindnumbing terror was readily available.

Between the fear and uncertainty of my situation, I had little time to fight against the medicine which I suppose was beneficial for as the medication dulled my emotions and activity, my inclination to attack others was consequently subdued.

Yet no matter the technicalities, submission did not suit me well.

Since I first entered the blackened pits of Arkham, I was overwhelmed; the memories themselves were warped beyond sense but the emotions were all too vivid. In defense, I used my anger and violence to numb myself to the fear that weighed me down. It was easier to sleep in the sickly metal pits of Arkham while fuming and thinking of ways to experiment on others. Even energy was better filtered when I had fury to focus my mind.

Of course, my medication put an end to such feelings which in turn decreased my defenses against said energy, resulting in a near powerless, pathetic state..._Near_ powerless because while I wasn't able to slip into rages, let alone think productively, instinct and careful, lightweight thinking were still available.

As if I wasn't irritable enough from the seemingly neverending onslaught of energy, lights, and noise I was now forced to give up what meager thread of hope I grasped onto.

At first, I was puzzled. Surely I would be allowed that much? Ha! I should have known better than to hope. Hope was a foolish emotion, it only lead to betrayal and pain. Then again, if I am indeed the fool (what else would I be to have placed myself in such situations?) my continuous attempts at hope, however laughable, were justified.

Hmph, Justice...

Was this some brand of Karma? I knew I lived an unstable life and possessed a dark past, but wouldn't my deeds to redeem the honour of my charges and lift Death from the desolate shadows of obscurity be viewed as beneficial?

Either way it didn't matter, the irony was only too clear. Here I was in a hell which supposedly served 'justice' but I was being punished for naught. I hadn't committed some ghastly deed in a misguided mindset, I merely took a stand against the injustice _I_ saw.

Even the entire investigation was made in the _sacred_ name of 'justice'. Was it justified to leave me, a talented mortician, locked away in an asylum with _questionable_ treatments and staff members? Was it justified to abandon all fascades of civility and leave me to the beasts here?

I only adapted, tapping into the reckless violence of my unstable past, to _survive_ in this place of supposed 'healing'. If anything, it was truly my personal tormentor who deserved this fate.

I closed my eyes, breathing deeply then regretted the action as it pulled on my side painfully.

Damn those vile men...

Of all the times to extract some petty semblance of revenge for a _justified _fate, my enemies chose the moment in which I was the weakest. Apparently, the man I had 'gravely injured' during art therapy kept dark company. The memory turned my stomach with bitter bile.

I felt so...Abused. Weak. Pathetic.

It wasn't just the beatings, it was the feeling of horror and betrayal as the guards stood by passively. While I wasn't the model patient surely I deserved a bit of compassion! But I received none as a gang of men swiftly descended on me, throwing me against the wall and brutally attacking me.

I bit my lip during the assault causing the skin to split and bleed freely. That was the only thing that actually _bled. _Well, I suppose that wasn't entirely true. The dark bruises along my back and side, the hand prints on my leg and upper arms as some held me still, attested to the fact that I _did_ bleed but the skin hadn't split to free the already rising blood.

This caused quite a stir with the other inmates, consequently worsening my fate. In my short stay I had earned a reputation with the others as 'unstable' and in a place like _Arkham_ the word held a greater testimony to my dark temperament. Yet in a way I was pleased, any way I may raise the honourable name of Death suited me just fine, but that reputation quickly faded once I became more withdrawn. Some merely thought I was plotting or building up into a large outburst but others knew I was under medication and weaker than usual. Thankfully, my earlier acts kept the other inmates at bay for awhile.

Although that didn't last.

After the others saw how easily I was taken down, without even a hand raised in defense, they began to taunt me and bully me in ways I thought only juvenile highschoolers acted. Then again, people don't change, they evolve...

So instead of shoving me against lockers, tripping me down stairs, starting vile rumors, or simply throwing insults, I was choked into cell bars while the inmate inside held me still and eventually the attacks grew until death threats and sneering faces replaced the previously flickering glances and mumbled words. The pain of it all was a distraction but the self loathing and hopelessness I was left with only twisted the blade.

The days I saw Dr. Crane I was silent, compliant, and completely submissive. After all, he yearned for submission and I doubt he could choke me tighter with the suffocating collar he kept on me. Once more, I found myself thinking to that patient of mine I treated, what seemed, so long ago.

Was he, too, kept 'submissive' by threats? Did he feel constricted by his medicine? When would I face those monsters he saw? If it wasn't for the learned difference between bi-polar disorder and schizophrenia I'd believe those monsters he saw were only the true faces of the staff at Arkham...or at least one in particular. After all, Dr. Crane was a monstrous man indeed.

In each session he asked questions which I either answered or evaded, toying with my fate as the clock inched its way closer to the end of our sessions. While my changed behavior improved his mood, he quickly began to cut into my attempts at secrecy or evasion.

Soon, my random ramblings of miscellaneous topics began to wear on him as he recognized my useless talk as a safe way to fill the time. His questions became more direct and often he redirected the conversation to his intended tangent if I were to attempt to lead it astray. I tried my best to avoid angering him while keeping myself safe although the struggle was fading as I grew more lifeless each day.

A sequence of noises sounded as the bars of my cell opened. I looked to the door with only my eyes and saw two guards step in.

One of them spoke, "Time for your session."

I didn't nod or move as an idea popped into my drugged mind.

It was risky...but worth it.

I swallowed and spoke as calmly as I was able, "I don't want to go today."

They exchanged looks before the second guard replied, "You're supposed to see Dr. Crane every week."

I felt my heart spike painfully in my chest, what an odd sensation...I had almost forgotten the feeling of nerves.

"I know...I just don't want to go. I'm not feeling well."

The first guard laughed and neared me, "Bullshit," he pulled on my arm and before I realized it I cried out as I was brought to my feet.

Honestly, his grip wasn't too tight or his actions too rough but my bruised body was overly sensitive.

The other guard neared me, "Hurry up or we'll restrain you."

My eyes filled with tears at the thought of my sore body being twisted into a straightjacket. If I wasn't so lifeless and pathetic, I would have pointed out that restraining me would only take up more time—also I would have already attacked the guard and most likely have been sedated as they moved me into solitary confinement.

That was a sure way to miss a session but that was also 'acting out' and if I so much as gave a guard a dirty look I would find myself on the waiting list to some torturous 'treatment'. So instead of replying, I let the guards pull me from my cell.

Wordlessly, we walked through the winding halls passing jeering inmates who pressed at the bars like caged animals. Normally, I would have glared back maybe even attacked one just to gain some peace, but now I walked with my head bowed and my limbs limp as their overpowering emotions enveloped me.

Paradoxically their anger, bloodlust, or any other form of aggression didn't touch me. Instead, it wore on my mind painfully so all that I did comprehend was the bright flare of a malicious, suffocating swirl of agony.

Thankfully, the hallway broke off to another gateway which the guards opened with a series of complex passwords. Both the guards jerked me forward as we walked into the quieter but brighter hallway which lead out to different offices and rooms whose function was lost on me.

My heart sunk as I saw the familiar wood and carpet of the bottom of his office's door. There was a knock and I heard his voice call through but the words were lost on me. I was shoved in the room then the door closed behind me. I felt his eyes bore into me but I made no movement to look up or sit down.

"Please, take a seat."

Swallowing, I stiffly walked forward and carefully eased myself into the nearest piece of furniture, not caring what it was as long as I was able to avoid angering him.

I was scared...terrified...but also resigned.

I knew nothing would change so my heart numbly beat a quick rhythm in my chest as the hair on the back of my neck raised for naught. His stare pressed heavily into me but I had no strength to face him...I had nothing.

"I was informed you resisted while being brought here..."

I felt a flash of panic before that faded.

What did it matter?

"Was there a reason you tried to avoid coming, Revis?"

I thought of replying but I remained frozen, my entire body feeling like lead.

"Your resistance is a form disobedience...Shall I make the call?"

My eyes widened but I didn't move, for a moment a giddy feeling shot through me at the thrill of my impending doom but some rare bout of rationality caused me to speak hoarsely, "I-I don't feel well..."

"Look at me, Revis."

My body twitched slightly but I didn't move.

The silence began to press into me uncomfortably and I felt like I couldn't breathe...Then again, the empty feeling that left me fatigued countered any struggling panic that might have otherwise overridden my composure.

"Revis," that one word was spoken without anger or impatience but managed to sound deadly.

I looked up slowly and stared numbly into his sharp gaze yet only when I had lifted my head did I realize my teary eyes hadn't faded. Instead, the stinging sensation prickled at my eyes as the air seemed to burn them.

"Would you care to elaborate?"

I barely opened my mouth before closing it, the action wouldn't have caught anyone's attention unless (like he was) they were staring intently at me. His eyes bore into me with a timeless expression that cut me deeper. My eyes blurred a bit but thankfully the tears remained unshed. The silence stretched between us as my numbed mind tried to make sense of the situation—Honestly, I felt too weak, too empty, to do anything.

Yet somehow words spilled from my mouth, "I don't feel well."

He shifted slightly in his chair, "Yes, I believe you said that before."

I looked down tiredly.

"Revis..." he began but I cut him off.

"I hurt."

He paused then arrogantly spoke, "You seem to be fairly vague today, apparently your self preservation was lost with your sanity."

I closed my eyes then slowly opened them and looked up once more, "I hurt."

He exhaled tiredly, "I've gathered that you don't feel well and you're in pain, would you care to enlighten me further?"

I took a slightly deeper breath as I began to unbutton the top buttons of my orange uniform. I saw his eyes narrow but before he could speak I pulled the collar of my white undershirt down to reveal the blotched skin of my collarbone.

Again I repeated my plea, "I hurt."

He moved in his seat once more, "How did you receive those bruises?"

I looked away and felt myself shutting down again yet I was still aware enough to notice him stand and walk toward me. Even so, I sat there numbly, unable to even gather the appropriate fear much less speak.

He stood before me and I saw the pants of his suit. The situation reminded me of our previous session when he gave me some 'medicine' and I foolishly hoped that it wouldn't end up the same way.

"Revis," he said once more but again I didn't move.

I felt his hand touch my shoulder and cried out in pain.

He immediately drew his hand back but then pulled my shirt aside and I knew he was searching for a space of skin that wasn't discoloured. Without giving me time to calm down he reached down to my hands which were resting lifelessly on my lap then pulled me up.

I winced at the action and bent over partially hoping to abate the feelings that threatened to split me in two. In my movement, I found myself leaning against him for a moment before he steadied me. Gingerly, he lifted up my shirt looking at my side and back then at my stomach as more brutalized skin was revealed.

I didn't have the effort to shiver, to protest, instead I let him see the marks _he_ was responsible for.

He exhaled heavily as he pulled my shirt down, "Who did this?"

I stared off into space and didn't even flinch as he turned my face so I looked into his cold yet furious eyes, "Who. Did. This?" each word was emphasized but he managed to appear calm.

Once more tears threatened as I swallowed and replied honestly, simultaneously signing over my death warrant, "You did."

His eyes narrowed but I cut him off, "Submission comes a-at a price..."

His eyebrows furrowed, "What price?"

I looked into his eyes firmly, my gaze wasn't quite a glare but it held more life than any of my other expressions, "Y-your medicine..." I looked down, "It—What I mean is, that's what started it."

He tilted my head further so I was once more looking at him, "Started what exactly?"

I swallowed feeling a tinge of fear. I couldn't let him know about the energy but I didn't have any other options, "I-I couldn't defend myself."

There that was the best I could manage without endangering myself more—He was wrong. My self preservation hadn't left, it was only a distant light.

He cocked his head and brought his face closer to mine, his eyes tight, "You still managed to function under your medication, try again."

Damn him...

"I couldn't defend myself, when they saw I wouldn't lash out they were suspicious..." I took a deep breath, closing my eyes for a moment then opened them and looked deeply into his, "After you threaten—After a while, they caught on."

He released his hold on me but remained much closer than I felt comfortable with, "Your ability to cloud the simplest facts with obscurity is astounding but I'd rather hear the details."

I looked down to gather my strength then made a weak attempt to glare at him accusingly, "Didn't you prepare for this?"

He raised an eyebrow but I didn't let him speak, "Surely you would have realized that by putting a violent patient on heavy drugs it would cause a shift in power. As I've said before, submission comes at a price, one I'm sure you had already calculated."

He glanced over my face, "Is that what you think?"

Unable to stop it I let the tears fall down my cheeks as I continued, "What I am _able_ to think! Everything is so controlled...t-that nothing matters."

I ducked my head and cried hating myself for displaying such open emotion.

He clicked his tongue, "That will be all for today."

I tried to stifle my tears as I heard him walking toward his desk but my breathing refused to even out. I felt flushed and my chest was too tight. Sinking to my knees, I sucked in air roughly as it randomly escaped me in deep shudders. I held my hands to my throat and whimpered as I curled in on myself.

Instantly, I felt a hand on my back but I couldn't register the pain past my aching chest. I was shaking and my skin felt like it was on fire. My chest prickled with stinging bursts of heat but I couldn't focus through my tight lungs. Strangely enough, odd, strangled noise came through my throat almost like a mix between a wail and hiccup.

"Revis, I need you to relax. Focus on my voice," I heard his voice speak from a distance but my head felt warm and bright.

The noise came back and I felt as though I was dry heaving with the way my body shook. I pressed my hands to my mouth in an effort to quell the offending noise. It was so loud it was drawing too much attention, there was too much at stake.

He would judge me. I couldn't allow him to make that phone call. I was normal. I was okay. I was fine. I could breathe.

The strangled yelp returned and I wailed a bit in my throat before my breath was roughly stolen. I shook my head furiously when I felt a hot hand rub down my back in what was supposed to be a grounding motion. Digging my hands in my hair, I tightened my grip while I stared with wide eyes at the carpet, fighting against my erratic breathing.

"Revis, calm down. Breathe in and out. Slow and deep breathes."

The weight of the past weeks came crashing down and for a moment it overrode the effects of the medicine. I whimpered and began to speak hoarsely between ragged breaths, "It's okay—" my breath left me, "I-I-"

I was unable to inhale. Why couldn't I breathe?

I pressed my hand to my throat trying to hold in my breath as if I were staunching the flow of blood.

Suddenly, my hands were pulled away as he tried to keep me from moving around. I was wheezing for air when it was trapped in my throat. The irony was lost on me as I stared widely at his suit the soft grey texture blurring out as I leaned against his shoulder vainly trying to breathe correctly.

"Take a deep breath. Breathe in and hold it then exhale slowly. You need to fill your lungs with air."

I shook my head slightly as I only managed to hold my breath then quickly exhale before repeating the process. My heart pounded so harshly I feared it would burst but I tried to focus on him; the way his suit felt soft against my flushed face. how he firmly held my wrists even as I leaned against him; the way he breathed; the sound of his heart.

I shuddered and felt myself calming a bit then I noticed the way his cologne smelled different, almost like a spice...

"I-I" I sucked in a harsh breath, "I-I'm s-sorry," I fought to continue speaking, "Don-don't call, ple—" my breath was stolen again as I felt my temperature rise once more.

"Don't speak, just focus on breathing. A deep breath in, hold it, then exhale slowly. Breathe in deeply, exhale slowly."

"I-I'm go-good. I," I shook as another strange noise pulled from my throat, "I'm normal. I-I c-can," I coughed against the rough feeling in my throat, "behave."

"Just breathe, Revis. Deep, slow breaths."

Inhaling was easy enough but no matter how hard I tried I could never hold it longer than a second. I had a small coughing fit but only buried my face further into his chest, slowly relaxing aside from the occasional shuddered breath.

Eventually, I tired myself out and simply rested against his chest just below his collarbone. Thankfully, my breathing was deeper aside from small gasps every few breathes.

"Revis?" he asked uncertainly.

I yawned then sucked in a breath but continued to breathe regularly, "Don-don't go..."

He froze then released my wrists which I used to hold onto the front of his suit as I leaned on him, "Stay...please."

Suddenly, I was being moved back but I didn't like the bright lights. I moaned and looked away as my head felt fuzzy and tight. I reached out and felt his sleeves which I held onto tightly.

There was something soft at my sore back and despite its texture, I winced as my tense body was stretched out. I pulled on the arm once I was fully horizontal and a shadow moved in front of me, blocking out the light. I blinked slowly, woozily, but still managed to reach out with my other hand to clutch onto the front of his suit, "Please don't leave..."

I managed to make out his pale blue eyes regarding me with confusion as his hair fell into his glasses. My vision flickered and I tightened my grip, pulling him toward me weakly before I lost consciousness.


	15. Chapter 13: Glasses

**Ello! Minion here! What's this, an early update(two days early!)? Well yes, sadly it seems my beloved laptop is having issues retaining battery power...or reading the charger's presence and so I'm updating earlier than normal because I won't have time this weekend to update on a decent schedule. Next week, either someday on Friday or Saturday, I will update again. Please bear with the unsteady update schedule-believe me, it's a pain to not use my laptop.**

**Okay, onto the chapter! While I know the events are a bit iffy for Arkham (depending on the version you associate Arkham with-for example, I use the video game version (Batman: Arkham Asylum) for apperance) but let's imagine a different version in which high functioning inmates are allowed to pursue certain interests-although, with this being Arkham, nothing is ever safe.**

**Next, translations for this chapter are as follows:**

**_Vita Sanguis = _Life Blood  
><strong>

**_Mors Cruentus =_ Bloody Death  
><strong>

**Once more, I have studied Latin for three years but I am not perfect (far from it) so if I make any mistakes within my Latin or my translations, please feel free to correct me. **

**(Second to) Lastly, I would like to thank everyone for following my story and reviewing! It fills me with a joy so explosive it is, at times, unfathomable to even myself ^-^**

**Also, I do not own Batman/Batman Begins with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13<strong>

I awoke to darkness.

Against my sleepy rationality, I shot up then hissed and bent over panting into the soft—Wait, soft? There was nothing soft in Arkham aside from the furniture in Dr. Crane's office and the plush walls, bed, and floor of the isolation room.

Groggily, I rubbed my eyes ignoring my sore back and arms. I slowly sat up wincing at the movement but my curiosity overrode my pain. I felt along whatever surface I was on and eventually touched cold, thick leather bindings.

My eyes widened as I noticed two things: I was solitary confinement and I wasn't restrained.

I had a mental war of sorts which was only decided over a headache caused by the strain of confusion and deep thought. Either I waited for someone to come or I took advantage of my environment.

Warily, I stood then cautiously walked around. It must be night or the bright lights would have been searing my eyes. Even so, I knew the room was bare from any decoration aside from a toilet, sink, shatter proof mirror, and flat camera which was built into the ceiling so there wasn't anything of importance to see.

Yet this situation was too strange...

I felt along the open air until I reached a corner far from the makeshift bed and where I assumed the door resided. Achingly, I sat down and held my knees while I buried my head in my arms.

Just make this go away...I couldn't handle any longer. I hated it here. I hated myself for failing in my duties. I hated Dr. Crane for forcing me into an ultimatum.

I was disappointed with my work. How was Death so easily subdued?

It was pathetic, _I _was pathetic.

I exhaled angrily and began to plot my—Wait, I was _hating._

My head shot up with this realization.

I felt a passionate emotion! I could think? Sure I had a migraine, what else was new, but I could _think_ clearly, _feel_ deeply...

How was this possible?

Without any warning or transition the too bright lights filled the room.

I hissed and ducked my head into my arms so I could shield my already burned eyes from the searing pain.

Damn them! Wait, damnation! I could feel hate, bloodlust. I could begin my work anew! Maybe even the investigation which had begun to sound like a distant dream wasn't a lost cause! I could offer my assistance for surely now that I was able to think I could plot out the characters and see who was loyal to whom. I would find a moral loving, bible thumping, do-good-er and find a way out!

Or could I? Surely someone had only forgotten to force my medicine on me. That itself was unbelievable. I doubted I was lucky enough to escape both medicine and restraints...

What was going on?

While I was never a patient person, I learned early on how to zone out for hours to extend the period of waiting which proved a valuable tool when my eyes adjusted and I realized no one was coming for me. At one point, what must have been hours later, I smiled and found I liked the feeling. No one would come. I was alone at last. Of course, I was locked in here and my enemies were only separated by a few hallways. Not to mention, Dr. Crane only—What happened to Dr. Crane?

I furrowed my eyebrows, my smile fading for a moment.

I remembered the beatings from my enemies too well. I remembered the threats Dr. Crane used to gain my submission. I even remembered our session when I—My eyes widened and I was sure my face paled.

Why did I reach out to him? Panicking was fine, I could live with the weakness that I showed but my actions afterward were uncalled for.

I closed my eyes and swallowed while trying to placate myself as I recalled in highschool another friend of mine although I lost touch with him before college. I trembled slightly as I recalled how that day terrified me.

I was having an off day, my unstable years were filled with those. Just like a cycle of madness, I'd have stable days then days with 'bouts of insanity' as I called it. It started as euphoria, it always did. I was having a grand day, everything seemed fine despite my troubles with my—No, I wouldn't focus on that.

Anyway, I was feeling a bit out of it, sort of dazed but in a happy way. Part of me was cautious against my chipper mood for usually I was happiest before the insanity struck but I could care less—After all, it was a grand day.

I remembered walking down the hallways untroubled by the crowded area or loud noise that pressed on me from all sides. Back then I hadn't needed to worry about energy, I only had a sense of empathy which rose and fell depending on my control over it. On that particular day, I had supreme control over my empathy and felt no emotion but my own jovial one.

It was during the passing period after my free hour that I made good time as I traveled toward another class just next to my own in order to meet up with my friend and his girlfriend. Upon greeting me, he jokingly made a comment about my good mood which had me laughing.

I should have realized as I leaned against his shoulder out of breath but still laughing heartily that something was wrong but instead of taking caution to mind I pushed away my petty worries. I was in control—After all, it was a grand day.

What I didn't count on was the sudden surprise as his girlfriend poked at my side. Normally, I would have yelped and become flustered as I brushed it off but I was far from normal on that day.

So as the shock wiped my mind clear, it also tore away my control. I slid down the wall laughing and laughing and laughing, unable to stop. A few people were beginning to look but no one really paid me mind.

I had told my friend of my 'bouts of insanity' and he began to worry but his girlfriend tried to ease over things as if someone who was laughing intently against a wall, too overcome to even stand, was a normal occurrence.

My sides ached and my heart pounded painfully, tears sprung to my eyes as I panicked. I couldn't stop laughing.

I had dubbed these episodes as 'laugh attacks' due to the fact I _couldn't_ stop laughing. No matter how much pain I felt or how scared I was, I didn't have to power to stop. Everything was funny even my pain and panic...

His girlfriend laughed nervously and went to touch me, in a strangled manner I tried to tell her not to but I couldn't form the words around my laughter. Heedless to my makeshift words, she touched me and I only laughed harder.

I curled up into the wall, now on the floor, as I tried to hide myself away the whole time panicking. People were beginning to watch and more frenzied thoughts ran through my head.

They would find out. they would send me away. I would be locked up. They would send me to an asylum. My life would end...

My friend pushed his girlfriend away and called out my name repeatedly, trying to draw me back. At this point a teacher walked up and asked what was going on—Yet now the panic became too much.

I frowned amid my rough breathing then I began to cry. While my 'laugh attacks' didn't always end in tears the majority of them did. Once the teacher saw I was crying she asked what was wrong and I tried to speak to reassure her and save myself from being sent away but I was unable to do anything.

I must have wailed slightly for more people began to crowd around as my friend lifted me effortlessly even as I shook and gasped for breath while crying in a panicked manner.

This was it, my life was over. I lost control and now I'd be locked away forever.

Distantly, I heard the teacher tell them to take me to the counseling center. As I was lead away, I found myself in more panic then before. I struggled against him pleading to not take me there.

His girlfriend followed trying to reassure me that it was the right thing to do but I resisted. Eventually, I won seeing as we were on the second floor and the counseling office was at ground level. We stopped near a rarely used stairwell and I slid back against the wall trying to calm myself. The tears fell but I was breathing better. I felt tired...the lights blurred. It was too bright but somehow their faces looked dark.

When I told them that they exchanged worried looks and continued to talk to me, asking me if I was alright and so on. My friend managed to take my trench coat (yes, the very one I've kept all these years) off and he left me lean on him and hold his hand while I stared off into space. I felt so tired and tried to sleep but they insisted I leave. I struggled but my energy was spent.

Although they were merciful and only took me to the nurse's where I waited for the rest of the class period on the pretense of almost passing out. I left without anyone knowing or being sent away but before I was discharged I clung to my friend and pleaded for him to stay, to not leave me. I was tired but feared if I fell asleep it would all melt away. My sanity, my life, even the world would end if I closed my eyes in slumber.

That was a painful memory but I needed to remember that reaching out to someone when in need wasn't so unnatural. Yet my logic didn't stand against my sarcasm. After all, there was a _big_difference between a trusted friend and a sociopath of a psychiatrist.

Perhaps it was his energy…At the time, I was too far gone to even pick up a single emotion but now I could recall the way his energy washed over me just as his cologne filled my senses with a soothing effect—or how his soft suit felt cool against my face—maybe the way he instantly appeared at my side when I dropped to the ground.

Not that it actually mattered...

Any psychiatrist worth his degree would be able to talk someone through a panic attack but I found it odd that he even tried. Wouldn't he have more pleasure in seeing me overwhelmed and in a sort of panicked pain? Of course, he might use the excuse of needing me in full health to continue his sessions but even that sounded like a weak excuse. Surely he wasn't human enough to feel compassion let alone pity? He seemed to take pleasure in my fear or general disposition yet he helped me...

Why?

After all he did to me. I found myself calmed in his presence or rather whenever he wasn't being an ass...which wasn't often.

Hopefully, this wasn't something as petty as loneliness. I don't think I'd ever forgive myself if I realized I was only relaxed by him because I had been alone for years so even something as odd as taking off a straightjacket would seem soothing.

Now _that _was pathetic.

I understood that as the only person I saw weekly, the one person who talked with me as human being (although, he held himself with enough arrogance I doubted he saw us as equals), I would feel something toward him, maybe tolerance, familiarity at the least but comfort?

That was laughable.

I knew I had a twisted mind, after all struggling with my...unstable years taught me to never take anything like reality for granted but now as I was inside an _asylum_ I felt more unstable than I had in years. As I worked in the funeral parlor, I had the deceased to focus on; their life became the sacred, precious thing I held close to me. There was no time to panic or worry about insanity when I was listening to the life of the dead. The precise work also took my mind off of any straying thoughts. Slowly. I began to get a grip on my own mind even as I found myself drawing back from others. I didn't mind so much, I was solitary by nature despite my contradictory emotions.

Yet to take away my point of focus, my life's work, even something as small as my _glasses_ that gave me clarity...Why there was no wonder I was becoming unhinged in this hell.

Once more, I found myself yearning for my glasses. It wasn't really that difficult of a request to fulfill. While I would hate to have them damaged by someone, I desperately wanted to see clearly. The clarity was sorely missed—Not to mention, my headaches weren't only caused my noise, energy, and lights it was due to my inability to define my surroundings that both frustrated and pained me. I could live without books (albeit painfully) or my trench coat which I saw as a sort of security blanket but I should at least be given the ability of sight!

Ha, love was blind, eh?

True I was still able to see. In fact, I only had difficulty making out words from a distance or seeing colours in focus—not that there was much to see but grey. So perhaps as my vision slipped into a blurred plane of existence, feelings were also shot to hell.

I didn't love, hell I didn't even _like_ Dr. Crane, yet I found some sense of ease when he was around. That piercing blue gaze of his gripped my heart with terror but also made me catch my breath as I was overcome briefly by his presence. He was handsome enough I suppose, full lips and rich hair but that didn't excuse his behavior or my feelings.

What did I feel?

Resentment of course but what else? Annoyance, pain, betrayal, sadness, fear, overwhelming terror, panic, comfort, security, instability...There were so many feelings, some contradictory but then again most my feelings already were.

A pang of anger tore through me. I felt so antsy, on edge. I needed to do something to focus myself but paradoxically I was loathe to move from my crouched position.

What was worse, being unable to think and feel or having no control over thoughts and feelings? For that day and the next few weeks only broken up by the changing of lights, appearance of food, and a shower every few days which I was escorted to, I pondered that thought: over and over and over and over and over.

….Two weeks Later...

The door opened.

At first, I was in disbelief but surprisingly enough Dr. Crane stepped inside. I was once more in my usual corner, in fact I spent most my days crouched there when I didn't curl up into myself as I slept or tended to my other needs.

Although now I was just staring at the padded floor, pondering whatever random thoughts came my way. Most, if not all, my bruises had faded. This much was clear as I looked into the dull mirror provided; however, it was difficult to not note the differences in my appearance.

I noticed my face looked thinner and my hair had grown out to my shoulders, even the layers in back were past a trim. The dark shadows under my eyes stood out against my pale skin in a sickly contrast, too morbid to be beautiful.

Yet nothing was beautiful about me. Those eyes that glared accusingly at others while betraying endless years of pain were perhaps the ugliest part of myself—No, not the ugliest, that title was reserved for my mind. The twisted thing that entrapped me in horror and pain for so long.

I was defined by these displays of raw, brutality against myself. I had thought I was strong yet upon staring into that mirror, looking into my eyes every day I arose in this hell, I realized just how weak I seemed to everyone else.

So when Dr. Crane entered, I only brushed my hair out of my ugly, scarred eyes and fixed him with a gaze I knew would reveal my pain, my _fear_, no matter how I tried to hide it.

As if to give validity to my thoughts, he wore his usual cocky expression as his eyes quickly looked me over to note any changes or perhaps to bask in my obvious disposition. Nevermind that, while he was busy examining me, I would in turn examine his appearance—Ha, as if I was able to unravel his motives by determining whether or not his attire would benefit with a sweatervest. On the other hand, was it just me or did that suit seem a bit creased just as his hair was giving off a slightly oily gleam?

"Hello Revis," he stated in a calm manner which barely sounded like a threat but after thinking it over quickly and silently rejoicing my ability to do so, I knew there were no doubt some hidden implications within his seemingly innocent words—with him there always was.

I blinked and waited for him to speak again.

"I apologize for the abrupt change in your routine but due to the progress you've made, I decided to change your medication. Yet to do so, I was forced to wait the customary two weeks for the drug to fully leave your system. During that time several members of the staff who are familiar with your profile opted to keep you under strict watch in solitary confinement."

I processed the information quickly but still felt confused yet when I tried to speak my voice failed me. Frowning, I cleared my throat and replied with a slightly hoarse voice, "Am I going back to my cell?"

His blue eyes pressed into me before he answered, "Not just yet. Your new medication may have some adverse effects and until you are deemed safe you must remain here."

I nodded, running through the possibilities then looked up and asked tentatively, "May I have my glasses?"

He blinked surprised for a moment before responding, "All your possessions have been confiscated during your admission. Your _glasses,_ if I remember correctly, were covered with blood and are currently being used as evidence."

I rolled my eyes and scoffed, "Oh yes, nevermind the box of tools with my fingerprints or the two police officers witnessed me as I was experimenting for surely my _glasses_ hold more evidence."

"Experimenting?" he asked.

I nodded, "He needed to be punished. I made sure his deeds were paid for."

Dr. Crane looked at me curiously despite the fact he knew very well who I was talking about, "What deeds?"

I glared at the ground and a said in a hard, dark voice, "He defiled the dead; raped one of my patients then mutilated her body," I then looked deeply into his eyes, "It was a shame he couldn't feel any pain since I paralyzed him but the terror and utter horror he felt as his blasted heart bleed him to death...Well, I'm sure the punishment was enough."

He furrowed his eyebrows, "Reports say he was alive while you stabbed him in his major arteries then fed blood into his system. The site was a mess."

I shrugged, "_Vita Sanguis _or rather _Mors Cruentus. _Shame he lived, at least the tramp died."

"Your other victim?"

I laughed and tilted my head at him, "Did no one understand? She was a _graverobber_, disturbing my charges after they were laid to rest," I shook my head, "No one respected Death...I merely avenged my charges."

"What of your assistant?"

I winced, "That was a mistake..."

"You feel remorse?"

I smiled darkly, "Not at all. Humanity deserves to fall to mortality, I only regret he died on a whim. I was impatient, I suppose..."

"All of humanity?"

I nodded my eyes staring off into the space near his arm, "Humanity lives in perpetual motion; always changing, lying. The dead are still."

"If you respect your...'charges' so much then why would you mutilate your assistant's body."

I grimaced and looked up, "As I said I was impatient, I was also ignorant. I was clouded by emotion and I didn't listen to his story. Instead, I foolishly carried my anger further than needed."

"Anger?"

I nodded, "He was lying, hiding the truth. He was targeting me. Always trying to involve himself in my life, but he hid his true self."

"And you knew of his true self?"

I smiled sweetly and stood. Tilting my head slightly, I walked toward him. Unfazed, he stood his ground and calmly, waiting with an almost bored expression.

When I was only a foot away, my smile widened, "I can read someone's life from just their body."

I flickered my gaze to his smooth throat, momentarily distracted by a small, red mark. I leaned in closer and gently brushed aside his collar to reveal red, irritated skin. I gently traced the mark and took note of how he stiffened and his pulse sped up slightly. I backed away marginally but didn't remove my hand.

Thankfully, I had two weeks to build up my defenses so I didn't even feel a single emotion yet instead of celebrating this achievement, I spoke again.

"How peculiar, the sparsely spaced pattern implies a course, porous fabric yet the irregular shape indicates hasty friction. One can rule out the possibility of rash or infection due to both lack of wound and the shade of red.

'Whatever caused this type of friction was made over the course of weeks, spaced out enough to show faded marks as well as a generalized area presumably the main point of contact with said fabric."

I gently rubbed the area and he made no outward reaction or show a tightening around his eyes, "Your lack of pain alludes to either a greater pain tolerance or the possibility of a light fabric. The idea of lighter friction contradicts the still fading marks as well as the estimated amount of times the fabric made contact."

I looked at the mark once more then smoothed out his collar and stepped back so there were many feet between us, "That was only a small percentage of your actual body, whatever scars you posses, amount and placement of muscle and fat, the roots of your hair, length of your nails, every minute detail would only reveal more. Even then, I would know more once I opened you up, viewing your internal works would be _much _more enlightening."

He cleared his throat, "Very well. I suppose, I shall see to your glasses."

I frowned and pulled gently on a strand of my hair, "Am I allowed to cut my hair—with supervision of course?"

He paused then exhaled seemingly frustrated, "Yes, if you must."

He then began to walk out and only gave me a short look to make sure I was following before leading the way into the hallway, "We should make good time if Stephen hasn't—"

I cut him off and shrunk in the doorway, "I'm walking without restraints?"

He turned to me and looked me over before replying, "Would you prefer to be restrained? While I'm pressed for a meeting in less than an hour, I doubt it'd take too much time to properly restrain you."

I shook my head and followed him closely almost brushing his arm as we passed two guards outside who followed us the entire way. I felt lost within the twisting halls and bright lights, I hadn't been down this way before...

Eventually, we made way to a portal which Dr. Crane easily opened using an ID card and typing in a short password. He cleared his throat and looked over his shoulder at me before walking in. I followed and glanced about the usual grey interior that branched off into different rooms each with seemingly glowing, white walls which were glimpsed through large, thick glass.

We turned into one of these rooms and Dr. Crane held the door open while looking at me impatiently. I shrunk a bit as I walked past him then struggled to comprehend the strange room with bright lights and tables upon tables of hair care products, brushes, blow driers, and every imaginable tool of the trade.

I felt Dr. Crane's hand on my shoulder, causing me to jump as he lead me around a few tables to the back of the room. I heard the guards follow but didn't turn around as I was distracted by the warm hand on my shoulder. Thankfully, there was no contact between our skin but my feeling of unease persisted.

Dr. Crane cleared his throat and a short man with long hair pulled back in a graying pony-tail turned around with a frown, "What?" the strange man asked irritably.

"I have another—"

"A customer! Well why didn't you say so?" the man's sour attitude turned happy in a split second and I found myself on edge.

Dr. Crane must have felt me tense and lean back slightly because he brought me forward while explaining, "Stephen, is a talented—"

"Oh Doctor, you flatter me so!" the man gave him a wide, yellow smile then turned his gaze on me.

Instantly, he grabbed at me arm and pulled me close. I recoiled but he only fingered my hair, "Hm, can't let you go out like that. Just a touch up?"

I was frozen but managed to nod. Without another word, he all but dragged me to a waiting plastic chair and shoved me down.

I was breathing unsteadily and tried to turn around but the man, Stephen, turned my head back and met my gaze in the mirror, "Oh why so glum? I haven't had a customer in weeks...of course they don't pay. Greedy, filthy buggers—but I have a customer."

The rambled words made no sense to me and I found myself wary to let that man near me with scissors.

Thankfully Dr. Crane spoke up, "Stephen, Revis has—"

"Some special case or another—Yes, yes, I know, Doctor. I'll leave the technical bits to you and you leave me to mine."

I swallowed nervously as he picked up my hair again, easing away slightly I said, "I was actually hoping to cut my own hair..."

Suddenly, the grip tightened and I was pulled back against the hard surface of the chair as he twisted his fist painfully that it pulled on my scalp. "What was that, oh customer of mine? You wanted a haircut of your own choosing…Well, I doubt you'll understand the finer bits of style but very well state your opinion."

I was taken aback but then my eyes narrowed but before either one of us could act, the guards stepped forward with the intent to intervene when Stephen pushed my head forward while busying himself with collecting clips, scissors, and a squirt bottle all of which he placed in his apron. He then grabbed my hair again and dragged me to a sink.

"What?—" I managed to get out before he hummed and shoved me under the facet. The water drenched my head and I sputtered but he held me down as he began to shampoo my hair. I gripped the edge of the sink and tried to pull back except he kept me under. Grudgingly, I let him rinse and shampoo my hair, then repeat the process with conditioner and rinse once more.

The moment I heard the facet turn off, I sharply pulled my head back. As expected, the wet hair and flying water hit him in his face. Glaring, I then turned around poised to lunge when he once more pulled me by my hair and shoved me in the seat.

I was about to protest when he dug in his grip at my shoulders and held a pair of scissors in the other as he spoke in a dark tone, "I suggest you wait patiently. After all, you can't rush art..."

I exhaled angrily which came out more as a growl but knew I couldn't escape. Yet despite all his harsh actions he gently brushed out my hair and hummed to himself as he clipped up various strands. My scalp hurt from the earlier abuse but I bore with it and remained still.

I tensed as I felt the scissors brush against the nape of my neck but relaxed as I heard the sound of hair being cut and felt the slight tug as the clipped strands fell. This continued on for a short while as he combed and cut, shifting sides and all but I merely focused on staying perfectly still.

Next he took down a clip and then combed out my hair and once more cut. I heard him muttering odd phrases under his breath but decided not to respond. Before I knew it he was on the other side of my head and repeated the process. A minute or so later, he faced me although was only focused on my hair. A few snips there and a sigh here then he was done. He smiled brightly and fluffed my hair in back. I glanced into the mirror and saw a flawless haircut...

Yet also in the mirror I saw him stare at me oddly, then he rushed toward me and I saw the gleam of scissors before I felt them as they stabbed my shoulder. I called out in pain and turned over so I was on the ground. I looked up murderously as he stood giggling and muttering. The guards quickly came over but I exhaled harshly so I wouldn't have the breath to scream before pulling the now bloodied scissors from my shoulder.

Blood hit my face and my arm burned with a hidden fire; the pain exploded with each breath but I ignored it knowing it wasn't fatal and so with a sudden burst of speed, I met the crazed man just as the guards restrained him. The combined effect was perfect. I stabbed the scissors into his jugular and used both hands to open them and twist. He howled and writhed in the guards arms but all too soon his efforts dulled as he slumped down dead while a deep pool of blood steadily gathered.

I panted as I felt his blood run off my face in rivulets. Dropping to my knees, I checked for a pulse and found none. My glare melted away and I instead viewed him sympathetically. Shaking my head slightly, I quickly unbuttoned my orange shirt then used the water to wet the fabric as I set to cleaning his body.

Why did I go for the jugular? It was so messy...

Quickly the mess disappeared and I reached for the squirt bottle's lid which I had popped off, and pulled the straw free—

Suddenly, I was pulled back.

I frowned and struggled as a guard yelled, "Stop!"

I pulled against the touch as Dr. Crane surveyed me with precise eyes, watching intently.

The guard who restrained me pulled on my arm causing me to momentarily loose my breath to pain. The other guard hit me over the head with his gun.

I felt woozy but managed to speak, "Look...I know the circumstances aren't favorable but I _need _to attend my patient—"

"Shut up freak!" I was hit in the stomach and coughed.

Even through the blood falling in my eyes and my pulsing arm I glared at the one who hit me, "Don't interfere with my work—" I was cut off as the gun was pressed to my forehead.

"I said, shut up!"

I tilted my head and laughed, "I don't fear death, I am DEATH!"

Before either guard could react Dr. Crane spoke up loudly, "See to it that she goes to the infirmary then to her cell. Sedate her after she's been treated," he sighed to himself and said in a quieter tone, "Now I'll be pressed for time before the meeting..."

I wasn't sure how to respond to that but I didn't have time to as I was roughly dragged away. Yet as soon as we left Dr. Crane's sight the guard who held the gun to my head abruptly hit my with the butt of his gun again. The pain blinded me for a moment before I saw the room tilt and dim...

…

I awoke with a headache. The fierce pain, stabbed me over and over causing me to moan.

Groggily, I opened my eyes and stared blankly at a white ceiling. I tried to hold my head but found I was unable to...that's right, I had a 'haircut' which landed me here, tightly restrained in an all too familiar bed.

I rolled my eyes but then hissed as that only deepened my pain. Gingerly, I tried to look down but suddenly my vision blurred. I knew it was more than the pain of my head or shoulder but—were those...?

I frowned deeply then sighed.

While I was tightly restrained in an vulnerable position with pain coursing through my head and shoulder I realized I was wearing my glasses...

Very funny, Dr. Crane.


	16. Chapter 14: Reunion

**Ello! Minion here! I know I said I would update on Friday/Saturday yet once more an opportunity arose for me to post today and rather than relying on a possibility that I may post later on. Next week, I should be back onto my normal posting schedule (Friday/Saturday).**

**But before I begin a slight explanation of this chapter, I would like to say wow...After using a computer for the first time in about a week, I was astounded at the amount of reviews and wonderful content of each-Seriously, my jaw dropped in shock. So while my gratitude cannot be expressed without a thousand 'thank you's, I will attempt to convey my thanks here-Thank you, everyone and please enjoy this early chapter!**

**Now, I have a more serious subject to approach. Before, I've said that Revis a heavily based off of myself which is very true-to be honest, she's the older, more deranged version of myself minus a few differences. Yet her anxiety, depression, psychosis and so on are based off of my own experiences (except for the fear toxin scenes). Also, the new character (purposefully left unnamed in this chapter) is based of someone who I had an abusive relationship with and a harsh breakup followed by haunting months in which I was stalked. Originally this was written as a therapeutic means to overcome those hardships but I figure as long as I change the name and appearance of this individual there would be no harm in keeping him in the story. So yes...real events, folks.**

**On a lighter note, this chapter is also _very_ humourous. Personally, I cannot contain my laughter as I was editing. Seriously, I found it hysterical so I hope you all find the same amusement (or greater) as I did.**

**Also I do not own Batman/Batman Begins with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 14<strong>

...Two Days Later...

Wasn't isolation fun?

Clarity helped, I suppose, for now I could count each dust mote or flickering shadow as the walls seemed to warp and twist. The grey walls reminded me of Jell-O and I found myself wondering what they tasted like...On second thought, I wasn't sure if they washed the walls. Oh well, I was having too much unaltered _fun _as I lay tightly bound to the soft bed, vainly trying to plot out either Dr. Crane's death or the downfall of Arkham which would be easier if I was able to socialize with anyone or if I had a vast knowledge of explosives.

I heard a small noise and an echo. Damn these bindings, I couldn't move enough to see anything—Oh, it was just a guard.

The now identified guard neared me, "Easy now, it's time for your appointment with Dr. Crane. If you're good, you won't need the straightjacket."

I resisted the temptation to roll my eyes, he must be new or simply naive. I was insane not some stupid creature you can bait and reward. I was half tempted to growl at him, maybe lunge toward him just to scare him but I kept still as he unbound me. Sitting up gingerly, I winced as my sore muscles flexed.

Hmm, nothing like two days strapped to a bed to leave your back in knots.

"Good, now if you'll follow me, please."

Yep, definitely new.

Nevermind that, he'd learn eventually and if not I may be able to use him. Without further incident or annoying comments, he lead me to Dr. Crane's room. I took a deep breath and pushed my glasses up further (elated I was able to do so) then walked inside, the new guard already in the back of my mind.

Wow such clarity...The desk, the books, the colours all the shapes looked so..._real_.

"A pleasant change, I presume?" Dr. Crane asked causing me to look up sharply at him as I took in his face anew: strong cheekbones, shockingly pale, blue eyes, full, pink lips, dark hair parted with care, cocky expression—Hurray, my sociopath psychiatrist is now available in HD.

I gave no reply but walked to the chair, feeling the texture before carefully sitting down and looking about the room once more. After all, stab wounds didn't heal overnight not even in this fucked up wonderland.

He cleared his throat and I glanced at him once more, "Well now that I know you can properly pay attention although that hardly excuses your former irrational behavior, I'd like to discuss the changes you've noticed while the drug has left your system."

I shrugged, "Well I'm sure you know I prefer it this way although that hardly excuses your former 'rational' behavior to put me on medication, whatever changes there are to discuss while the drug has left my system will only turn us around in circles."

He gave a small smile, "Your sense of humor has returned."

I looked him over, "I doubt it was missed."

He shifted a bit, "Which is the greater contribute to your lucid behavior: the lack of medicine or your glasses?"

I furrowed my brows, "I hardly see how that's relevant. I can see and function normally yet I'm still in Arkham which _means _someone's been lacking in their duties. Throughout this time I've only been restrained, insulted, sedated, drugged, threatened, beaten, taken off my medication, stabbed, sedated once more, and now we're talking about medicine. I doubt the chemical imbalances in my brain contribute to my 'insanity' moreso than the thoughts and memories my mind possesses."

He blinked, almost in surprise, but his expression was too controlled for me to accurately read, "Whatever attempts I have made toward gaining information, you've evaded. Why the sudden change?"

I closed my eyes briefly then opened them as I smiled sadly, "I talked with my highschool's counselor a few times throughout my time there. We talked of many things: class, cutting, doubts, plans for the future, and so on. One day we were discussing morals, he took my sarcasm and bitter outlook well...Anyway, on that day we were talking about his college experience.

'He told me a story of his first few days in his psychology courses. The teacher asked the class why they were there, what did they hope to do in life? Him, like many others, answered that he wanted to help people. The teacher laughed and bluntly told the class if that's what they thought counseling was then they had no business in that classroom. When he asked why, his teacher replied, counseling isn't about fixing people it's about helping people fix themselves.

'I've been through a lot in my life, not that it's an excuse for my actions but it's a start. Throughout my life I've met with a few counselors, once I was admitted to the mental ward of a hospital and I had a psychological evaluation," at this I paused to smile at him and chuckle, "I was declared normal, just depressed with a 'creative outlet' but I was also told I, and I quote, 'intellectualize' everything.

'Apparently I'm obsessed about control and I had to see myself, my unstable emotions, like rational concepts yet with emotions being irrational and all, it tended to backfire...The reason I tell you this is because I believe you have the wrong approach.

'Call my current behavior a detached front from my emotions and I'd believe it. I'm not asking for a magic pill to 'make it all go away'. I'm asking for therapy and tea. I'm sure I won't be allowed the latter but for now at least do something to actual earn that large paycheck you receive."

To say his expression was shocked would be a understatement. Then again, he was quickly processing the overflow of information I gave him. Much to his credit he replied readily, "Very well, where would you like to begin?"

Oh, so submission is fine while I'm secretive but the moment I decide to open up you find it in your heart to overlook my sharp words? Or was this only a guise to further his knowledge on me in order to tighten that choking collar even further?

Ignoring my mental debate, I smiled mockingly, "I doubt it will be that easy. I could give you an overview of my life, tell you every little detail and more but that doesn't solve anything. I know what happened, I live with it everyday, and obviously knowing what was doesn't change it. Of course, it affects my perspective and decisions therefore my future but I think it's a bit too late to be questioning my actions."

His eyes narrowed slightly in confusion and I took pride in his disposition. I remember seeing that look, a mix of shock and suspicion, on many people as I often exceeded expectations or spoke what was on my mind...something not many people either understood or wanted to.

"While you make a valid point you forget that I _don't_ know; therefore, I am unable to supply you with anything supportive."

I fought down a laugh at the thought of him helping me in any way but I was unable to hid the smile. If he saw it, he continued regardless, "If you wish we can discuss the present, how you feel and what you think."

I quickly lost my smile and drew back slightly in my seat as he smiled, "There's another sign, aside from your previous words you seem to shrink from any change or inner revelation. While you have destroyed your records and any knowledge of your past would be useless when it comes to identifying you, you still cling to obscurity. You're only holding yourself back. You can't control what you feel, only how you disguise it."

I paused and looked down, "I suppose that 'intellectualizing' thing was true...but if it means breaking that control every week just to _feel_..."

I looked off to the side of the room, "I don't..." I turned my head back to stare deep into his eyes, "I don't trust you."

He only cocked his head but I saw a sort of light fill his eyes, "Revis, you don't even trust yourself. I doubt whatever lacking qualities you may see in me matter."

I swallowed then took a deep breath and toed the line, "No, what matters is the ultimatum you forced me into. Why would I willingly give you more leverage? Obviously you hold your own motives, it's not about trust so much as it is a sense of self preservation."

He smirked, "Once more I find myself referring to our first session, your preferences don't matter. You're here for your mental instability as well as your crimes, as your psychiatrist I'm the only option you have."

I met his gaze then broke away to stare at the legs of his desk, regretting ever speaking out. The conversation echoed over in my mind and I wished I could just take back those words. There was a sudden knock on the door causing my head to whip up.

"Ah yes, I forgot to mention our session would be shorter today due to my new patient."

I swallowed then stood anyway and walked away feeling Dr. Crane's eyes bore into me. I was halfway to the door, not particularly rushed or anything, when the door opened and—

My heart painfully jolted in my chest.

Terror, blinding terror...

I quickly ducked my head down trying to ignore the long, black hair and pale skin—

Shit! I felt his hand touch my left, uninjured shoulder. Even so, my chest hurt—Oh dear, I couldn't breathe!

"Hello Nicole, or should I say, Elocin?"

I looked up slowly to stare into his too grey eyes...N-no this wasn't happening.

"I—" my words failed me as he smiled, his analytical gaze flickering over me.

"It's been so long but I've been waiting."

I shook my head and tried to move back but he just looked at me with those sharp eyes and pulled me closer...

Damn him, why was he always so warm?

He put an arm around my shoulders (thankfully avoiding my stab wound although that was most likely by chance) and drew me into his half embrace. I froze, my breathing coming in strained intervals, but I only heard him laugh.

He gently stroked my cheek with one hand as he ran his hand through my hair with the other, "Aww, you cut your hair."

I flinched, harshly exhaling at his touch as I heard his tongue click as he sighed removing his hands from my head, "Why is it whenever I touch you, you flinch?"

Dr. Crane cleared his throat and spoke which caught _his _attention but I was too panicked to focus much.

Just breathe...Shit—fucking shit! Why is he here?

Suddenly, we were walking despite my shaking legs. Once more, we arrived at the couch and I found myself being pulled down. The whole time he kept his arm around me.

How was he so different yet the same? Of course, he's changed: grown taller (wasn't he tall enough?), his hair longer, eyes colder...

"So Doc, how about some couple's counseling?" he asked in a chipper voice.

I pushed away at him and glanced to Dr. Crane for a second to see his disbelieving face before turning back to the man beside me, "We're not together—"

He only pulled me closer, "But of course we are, Nicole. Did you think you'd get rid of me so easily? I guess your were more insane than I tho—"

"Shut up!" I yelled and roughly shoved him away as I was about to stand and run as far away as possible from him—

Suddenly, I found my back at the couch and myself clawing at the hands around my throat instinctively before my mind even registered I was being choked. For a second, I stared terrified into his stormy eyes as his face was drawn in an angry expression.

He growled and I felt like crying at the sound.

In a dark voice he spoke, "Just be glad I don't take what I want."

Then before I could move, he crushed our lips together in a forceful kiss.

No! This isn't what I wanted! I got away! I left him!

I pulled desperately at his crushing grip as he continued to kiss me while choking me. His body seemed to radiate heat as he kept me pinned. Thankfully, he was pulled off me by two guards who seemingly appeared out of nowhere yet some distant part of me figured Dr. Crane must have pressed the call button.

I fell, my back hitting the floor where I panted holding a hand to my throat before shakily backing away with my hands and feet.

I could only stare horrified, too scared to feel the pain of my shoulder as he shoved them off and held up his hands in a innocent gesture, "Hey, cool cool," with an all too familiar smile he looked me over, leaving me feeling dirty and exposed, "I missed you, darling."

The guards walked around the couch and picked me up. Helping me as I stumbled on unsteadily feet. The whole time I was unable to take my eyes off him...

No, there's no way. Fuck! What would he tell, Dr. Crane? I didn't need his sick mind games now...I left him—I—I

"Take her back to solitary," Dr. Crane said before bringing his attention to his 'patient'.

We were almost out the door, at this point I was ready to bolt, when I heard _his_ voice, "Oh and Nicole?" Against my better judgment I froze and glanced back at his triumphant face, "When I said I'd never let you go, I meant it...I love you, darling—"

I cried out and dashed through the door, leaving the guards to scramble after me as I heard _his_ laugh echoing through the door. There was no struggle as the guards took me in their grasp, I welcomed their touch, anything to distract me from this nightmare. Surely this wasn't real...I was in an asylum, _he_ was here as well—Fuck, what was next?

…

Rhetorical questions were simply bait for Murphy's Law...

That week I didn't sleep. Well, I did once I passed out from exhaustion but every waking moment was filled with a panicked terror. At one point, they had to put me in a straightjacket due to my insistent rubbing on my skin. I was too fearful of those maggots to scratch but I couldn't get the itching sensation to leave me...

He was back...He found me.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck_

It was true.

I was wrong.

My life has gone to hell—No, I never left hell. He _is_ my hell...and he never left.

I didn't even want to think the name let alone anything about him but I was unable to stop the speculations and memories from surfacing.

Fuck!

Once more, I grabbed at my head and let out a dry sob. Why? Was this some fucking sense of justice? What was going on?

I struggled to collect my breath as I held myself tightly.

This was it...I've been counting the days, dreading whatever _he_ might have told Dr. Crane.

Shit, if he knew about the—

No, I won't think on it. If I do I'll start doubting and I can't doubt—

No, not in here. I was already unstable—

No, I was fine...I was rational, just a little panicked...

Okay, breathe.

_ Shit. Shit. Shit _

What was I going to do?

What could I do?

He...He knew everything...Every moment of my life aside from sixteen to now. Yes now, let's focus on now.

I was twenty-four...24-16=8, and so it's been eight years since I left him. Eight years that I've had to grow, move on, live my life, and—_Shit. Shit. _He was here and now everything was over. I was going to die, he'd kill me—No, he already has. Surely this was worse than dying. Hell, I _wanted_ to die if it meant escaping him...but what if he followed me afterward?

It was a silly thought for everything died. All our energy blended into the universe, into all that IS, and reinforces Karma, the governing factor of fate. There was no evil and good, so from his perspective everything was justified and what wasn't he would deal with. Everyone's right for perspective is reality. What someone perceives, what they believe, is all their own truth...

And I sure fucked up my reality. Yes, he had his own motives, logic, and beliefs but I had mine as well and they sure as hell didn't match up.

"It's time for your appointment with Dr. Crane," the same naïve guard said cautiously as I held myself in the corner.

I nodded and stood on shaky legs, holding my arms tightly.

Just breathe...I could do this. I just needed to figure out what he said and Dr. Crane better not give me any 'doctor-patient confidentiality' bullshit. If anything, it mattered because as much as I hated it we were 'connected'.

"Here we are, easy now. Dr. Crane's been waiting for you—"

"Yes, thank you very much," I murmured, not really thinking about what I was saying.

Damn, why couldn't I stop shaking?

I opened the door and fought to control my pounding heart as I walked into the room. Immediately, I scanned the room but saw nothing amiss and only my usual cocky psychiatrist with a 'cat ate the canary' smile...

Fuck it all to pieces of shit and burn it.

I sat down in my usual chair then froze...

What if _he_ sat here.

No, I wouldn't allow such thoughts to cloud my mind. I was here and here was where I needed to be.

"Well Revis, that was an interesting session last week or should I call you Nicole?"

I flinched but took a deep breath to calm myself, "Patient 81395 works too. Also I've had other nicknames: Niki with only one k, in my opinion having two 'K's is a bit unnecessary. Then there's Cole, Coley, and so on."

He made a small noncommittal noise then resumed, "As I said last session was quite revealing. I had no idea you knew—"

"Don't—" I said loudly without thinking then closed my eyes while running my hand through my hair. After a few deep breathes, I continued, "Sorry, it's just been...awhile."

I looked around the room in a jittery way, trying hard to not pace.

"Well then, my newest patient expressed quite a bit of interest in you—"

I laughed bitterly and looked into his eyes deeply, "Is that what you'd call it?" I found my hatred seeping in, "After all that's happened," my voice started to rise and I felt my face grow warmer, "You fucking," I was standing and yelling at this point, "Call THAT a fucking interest?"

I smacked my head and sunk back down to the floor, my back against the chair's seat. I shook my head against the tears that fell down my face.

Shit,I never yelled at him—Fuck him, he deserved it but I never should have yelled.

Agh! I haven't cussed so much in years as I have in this week alone.

"S-Sorry," I said quietly, "That was uncalled for."

Without any more emotion other than my flushed face and shaking hand, I lifted my head and carefully took off my glasses which I held with trembling fingers as I wiped at my eyes with the other.

"Fuck," I laid my head back, "After all these years..."

"I assume you knew him?" he asked in a masked voice.

I looked at him feeling guilty for my earlier outburst, "Yeah..."

I looked away, trying to control the hurricane of emotions that ran through me.

"He spoke of nothing but you—" I flinched and wiped away another tear, "He seemed eager to know everything that's happened in his absence."

I swallowed and stared numbly at the front of the desk, "What'd he say..."

"Revis..."

"**What**. **Did**. **He**. **Say?**" I asked again, looking deeply into his eyes.

Dr. Crane only gave me a blank yet superior look as he replied, "If I were to tell you that would be a violation of doctor-patient confidentiality."

I momentarily thought of hurting him but decided I was too unsteady to actually make my way toward him in time to pull him away from the call button—Nevermind the penalties that would follow from such a rebellious act.

"What do you want to know..." I said tiredly, breaking the eye contact between us as I placed my glasses back on my face.

"Pardon?"

Damn, I could practically see the smug smirk he was wearing, "I said, 'What do you want to know?'. Obviously you have questions and I'd like to have a say in whatever happens. He knows everything about me aside from the last eight years but so do I and I'd trust my word over his. So what do you want to know?"  
>There was a pause which caused me to look up and meet his calculating gaze before he asked, "How do you know him?"<p>

I exhaled then pushed my head against the seat once more with my eyes closed.

"Re—"

"We went to the same middle school, it was hell back then but that's not the point. I first saw him in seventh grade, we didn't talk until eighth..." I paused, not able to open my eyes but wanting to prolong the inevitable, "We were together for exactly two years and thirteen days..."

"You remember the exact date?"

I nodded somewhat awkwardly, seeing as my head was still leaning against the chair, "He wouldn't let me forget it...When I broke up with him for the second time, I mean...The first time didn't last a week and that was in middle school, but when I was finally done with us in the middle of my sophomore year...he lost it. He wouldn't," my breath hitched, "he wouldn't let go..."

"How so?"

I brought my head up and blankly stared at the desk again, riding out the nausea and initial head rush, "Does it matter? Needless to say he still hasn't—I don't want to talk about this."

"Revis, earlier you asked me what I wanted to know and now you're withholding information."

I met his eyes, "I am well aware of what I said, _Doctor,_ but that doesn't alleviate the emotions."

He cocked his head and smiled, "Tea and therapy I suppose? Once more I find myself lacking a pot of tea but I'm sure the therapy will suffice."

I glared at him but he continued, "Oh? Do you not enjoy the truth? I'm only repeating what you've told me before or do you use double standards with all your words?"

I felt my control slipping...Just a little bit more.

"I find your obsession with control to be quite amusing. Whenever it suits you, you're able to weave imaginative stories, illusions of poise and control, but in reality you're just covering up how weak you are...Tell me Revis, does it pain you to know you're living in a delusional—"

Snarling, I jumped up from my crouched position and somehow found a way over his desk. I tackled him from his seat, too blinded by rage to care of the later possibilities.

Torture me! Hell if I care, I'm already tortured.

Erase my memory if you will, I'd rather not remember anything!

He brought his hands to my shoulders and firmly pulled until our positions were flipped. I pushed against him with my body, twisting and squirming as I tried to both free myself and attack him.

I felt a twisted growl in my throat as I lunged forward, too fast for him to move out of the way, and harshly bit at his neck. Instantly, his efforts doubled as he tried to hold me down while escaping with his throat intact. I held no mercy as I dug my teeth in harder—

Ah! My head...

I shook my head against the numbing sensation as I realized he must have hit me in order to free himself.

Damn him...

Reaching up to his desk in a strained position, I firmly grasped a pen.

Hmm, this will do.

He recovered enough to attempt to reach the call button but I harshly stabbed the pen into his hand before he could press it. He yelled in pain and I suddenly met his desk with my head as he shoved me into its hard edge. Although I was dazed, I was still ready to attack him.

Ha, he wasn't smirking now! In fact, his face was flushed with either rage or pain as he panted and adjusted his suit—his suit.

I coughed as a strange mist hit my face.

Ugh, what was that—Instantly, I felt on edge.

I noticed a twisted figure moving and backed away into the desk harshly, my breath gone in a sharp exhale. The shadowy figure was absorbed in some task...

I heard a heavy noise of something being closed but somehow it warped and seemed as if the sounds vibrations would shatter my bones. I whimpered but that too was warped as it morphed into sharp razors that cut my skin.

No! Not my skin, I don't want the maggots back!

I curled up trying to be as still as possible although my pounding heart sounded like a loud explosion in my ears as if each thudding pump threatened to tear apart my mind.

In a way, I was fascinated by my panic—After all, sounds were just vibrations in the air and if they were amplified enough there would be an untold amount of destruction.

On that note, I sat up and opened my eyes seeing the room wave in and out. I giggled and waved back then paused as my laughter tore open the shadows and they pressed against me, heavily resting along my body.

Such fun this was!

I looked to the shadowy figure who's face was twisted, grotesquely blending human features with seemingly painful injuries.

His leathery skin was slit open around his neck seemingly only held together by a slightly frayed rope...

Hmm, maybe I could fix that if I had a hot surgical needle and some medical thread.

His face, on the other hand, was severely mutilated. His lips were entirely gone whereas his blackened gums had been strewn all over his grotesque mouth. Strings of dead skin hung off the blackened gums, glistening with pus and moving slightly in some hidden breeze.

The rest of his face was harder to describe...

It seemed as though his eyes were gone, only dark holes of shadows were noticeable underneath his tanned, rough skin. Unfortunately, his skin had been stretched tight in certain areas then dripping over in others. On the top portion of his head, just above his temple, I saw diseased brain matter twitch in time with some unknown tune. Although with each shudder, his exposed brain leaked out a sickly black goo that trailed down and smelt horrible.

It was horrific and while I was at first paralyzed by shock, my sympathy soon overwrought my revulsion. Crawling forward I saw him tilt his head causing the goo to fall on his dusty suit and the hanging skin around his mouth to sway. I wrinkled my nose and reached out a hand to his barely attached neck, "Does that hurt?"

My hand was slapped away and momentarily I was curled over sobbing as the pain ate away, infecting my skin—What kind of infection?

Mid-sob I stopped and curiously looked over my hand.

Why this looked so curious! Almost like the yellowed boils, discoloured skin, and bulging masses of the plague!

I smiled and poked at it, taking in the pain as well as the rising panic—Panic? Why there was no room for panic there was only an intriguing puzzle...

"I'll excuse your actions just this once—" I found myself pressed against the desk staring right into those endless holes of black. His dripping brain matter hit my face and I flinched, not in fear or revulsion but sympathy.

"Who did this?" I asked, I felt his grip shift but I continued, "No wonder you've been upset someone was certainly lacking in their duties," I smiled happily at him, "Don't worry I'll fix you again."

I gently pushed him back, wary of hurting him further. I scowled as I looked around the warped room, "I'm afraid there aren't any—"

I yelped as I was once more against the floor as he held me down. He spoke in a rough, chilling voice that held a papery quality that also managed to make me shudder in disgust quite similar to the slippery sound of skin being peeled off a corpse, "You should be afraid, _very_ afraid."

I frowned, "Now that was uncalled for...Then again, if you're a corpse you wouldn't be moving..."

I gasped in surprise as my eyes lit up. I smiled bright, uncaring as the leathery skin pulsed while insects moving underneath, "Are you a zombie?"

He quickly sat up and leaned away from me which allowed me to shuffle forward on my knees in order to place a hand on his shoulder, "It's okay, I'm a zombie sympathizer...Can I ask you a few questions, offer you anything? Are you sure you don't want me to fix you up a bit?"

He grabbed a bunched up portion of his skin causing it to burst with a splatter of sickly pus.

Poor dear...

"You should be crying in a helpless heap of fear..."

I shivered, "Is your voice supposed to rasp like that? I can always take a look through those gaps," I leaned in close to the writhing skin of his neck that gaped open—

"No!" he pushed me away and I frowned.

"I'm sorry, that was much too personal...So—"

He was in my face again, "Don't you fear me?"

I looked him over and giggled behind my hand, "What's to fear?"

"You're not panicked?"

I shrugged, "I kind of feel on edge, a bit hyper, I suppose...I mean, this _is_ my first zombie encounter!"

He groaned and the sound sent chills down my spine, "Are you alright? I'm not used to patients who can respond to current events so I may be doing this wrong, but can you tell me how I can help you?"

There was a noise like a sigh and groan then he spoke darkly in that odd rasp, "You could cower and plead for mercy."

I bit my lip thinking it threw, "Okay, I understand you want your space..." I backed away a bit, "Now please, _please _tell me where you hurt?"

He mumbled to himself while shaking his head, uncaring as a strand of skin stuck to his face or how a part of his bunched skin actually melted off.

He froze as if something had suddenly occurred to him, "You want to help me?" I nodded, "Then give me your brain!" he lunged forward and I cried out.

"WAIT!"

He laughed darkly as he towered over me—

"I want to ask a few questions: How do you like your brains? Why do you even eat them in the first place? I heard the reason derived from voodoo concerning a ritual to devour a brain to gain more supporters to whoever raised you—Yet there's the idea of chemical mutation and craving for human flesh in general which I suppose is a believable—"

"I like my victims consumed by fear!" he once more descended and I let my body go limp.

He pulled on my shoulders but I let him move me easily.

He paused and growled out, "Why aren't you screaming?"

I froze and moved away to look into his bottomless eyes wondering if he could even see, "Oh...should I scream? I thought you were just going to eat and well—"

"You weren't scared?"

I laughed, "What's there to fear? I am Death, so if I can cater to one of my charges no matter how distorted…Well, it's an honour. Please, do continue," I laid limply against his suit, feeling the bugs begin to crawl over me as pus dripped into my hair.

I was roughly shoved away before another mist covered me. I blinked, sneezed, then looked up to find...Dr. Crane holding a bunch of burlap?

I raised an eyebrow, "Dr. Crane? There was a zombie and...I sound completely insane," I trailed off sighing.

Was this the sort of monsters that patient saw? Was it beginning already? I remembered the mist, what mist? Was that a chemical—

"That will be all for today," he said forcibly.

I nodded and stood achingly, damn that shoulder wound, then froze, "Where did your glasses go—Wait, I was attacking—" I looked at him uneasily and stepped back till the desk prevented me from walking further, "W-What happened, Dr. Cra—"

He cocked his head, "You attacked me, most unfortunate for your situation I daresay—"

I panted, staring at him with wide eyes as he neared me.

He stared down at me with icy eyes, "Yes...most unfortunate indeed."

My jaw trembled as I felt chills run down my spine, "I-I don't understand, you baited me, I..." I let out a short shrill noise almost a scream when I felt him touch my shoulder. I was trembling all over, "I-" my breath hitched as I shook my head tears filling my eyes.

"Revis..." he growled out in a hard voice.

I shrunk away from his touch the tears spilling over as I whimpered.

He gently brushed away a tear, ignoring my flinch as he murmured softly, "Most curious—"

What was that? His energy...soothing, fearfully soothing. I felt woozy...

Before I understood what was happening, I was slumped against him, shaky yet relaxed; what an odd feeling of terror and euphoria.

He made a small noise as he tried to move back but I held onto his sleeve and laughed.

Wow such a light, happy feeling!

"Revis?"

I fell against him trembling yet smiling.

He pushed me back with one hand and I tried to focus so as to read his expression but with the fading tears, lack of glasses, and drugged terror I had no chance, "Your energy's soo nice..." I fell forward once more, "Mmm, very nice—"

Suddenly hands were pulling at me and fitting me into a straightjacket—Did he call for the guards? Confused, I slumped against their hold, shaky and smiling but still dazed. I missed Dr. Crane...

My head swirled with the headache—That's odd, I could have sworn I hated him, then there was that zombie (really intriguing) or was that the mysterious mist?

Before I was terrified of him but now I wanted nothing more than to collapse in his arms. Talk about unstable...but I found myself wanting to both stay with Dr. Crane and meet that zombie again if it was in fact a real zombie—Then what about those maggots? Hadn't he mentioned something about 'medicine' that time?

Tiredly I asked, "Can I see the zombie later, I have questions..." my lead lulled to the side as they tightened the straps, "Oh and I'll see you later~ ,Dr. Crane," on a whim I winked as I was lead out, stumbling slightly on the slick floors.

Hmm, a most curious feeling indeed, I daresay I might be leaving Arkham sooner than I thought.


	17. Chapter 15: The Truth

**Ello! Minion here! Finally I've secured a stable source of internet and so my normal update schedule (normall 12:01 on a Saturday morning) is back on track! **

**Yet before I go into info on this chapter I would like to thank everyone who has reviewed and read my story so far. There really is no way to describe the uplifting joy (merits of using Nutella as a description/measurement of happiness aside) a review leaves in my heart-or the dopey smile that stays on my face for hours! So once more, thank you all!**

**Now for some serious talk...**

**Well, I was sort of dreading this chapter for its personal qualities. As I've said before, Revis is heavily influenced by myself and most her experiences (for now at least) are based off of real events within reason. Originally, I wrote this as a therapeutic bit in a story of action, mindgames, and romance yet after many discussions with my closest friend Megamind, I decided to leave it in anyway. **

**On one hand, everything (almost) is real and so I can write from personal experience which helps the story yet also there is no real danger in exposing the truth in a story so why should I hide my fears when this story is centered on the trials of fear that everyone faces? **

**So Revis' confession is a true story (aside from the events concerning a job at a sandwich shoppe, violin scholarship, and new boyfriend, then moving to Gotham (obviously)) one that is a bit terrifying to write but also relieving. Oh, and I apologize for the giant bulk of dialouge toward the end but her rambling confession is necessary.**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman/ Batman Begins with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 15<strong>

"Eh you, wake up!" a guard rudely yelled at me.

I glared and stood up swiftly, cocking my head to get a better view of him as my head swam while my shoulder throbbed. The stab wound was healing well—Thankfully it wasn't too deep but it still hurt, especially in the mornings.

"None of that funny business, you're being moved. Now get on with it!"

I tilted my chin forward challengingly and walked proudly to the door where I was wrestled into a straightjacket.

Honestly did no one learn?

These things were as ineffective as Arkham itself...speaking of which, was that a lighter shade of grey I see? Hmm, maybe they just replaced the florescent bulbs.

I sighed dejectedly, what a shame.

The usual walk down to the main cells was uneventful. As much as I would have loved to put those inmates in their place, I found there to be no one taunting me at the bars or any rude remarks. In fact, everyone seemed to be shunning me.

What was going on?

Wait a minute, they never said _where_ I was being moved...

What if I was on my way to one of those treatments? Oh no, what if—

"Here we are, now shut the hell up and get in!"

I was roughly shoved into a normal, dingy, narrow cell and locked inside.

I looked around the cell, maybe I was wrong—

Fuck my life...Right across the hall _he_ was there.

I saw him smile triumphantly and cringed, looking away defeatedly.

On second thought, take me to the treatments, I'd rather forget everything.

Not willing to face him once more, I skillfully maneuvered my way onto the poor excuse for a bed and laid down—

Ah, I missed the hard walls of normal cells. They often captured the poor lighting, leaving me in shadows in ways the softer walls of solitary confinement did not.

"I missed you..."

Closing my eyes tightly, I tried to tune out his voice...

"I love you..."

Just ignore it. Just ignore it...

"Now we're finally together—"

Oh for the love of sanity and space, shut the fuck up!

I exhaled heavily and mentally cursed Dr. Crane over and over again. That's it, Arkham would definitely pay. I swear if it's the _only_ thing I ever do, I will destroy Arkham and bring Dr. Crane down as well. Sure I'll behave, play along in his little games but I will never submit to someone _ever_ again.

"Nicole..."

Fuck...Now if only I could concentrate over his grating voice.

...Hours Later..

"Hey, it's dinner time and I'm supposed to escort you to the cafeteria so if you would..."

Ah, it was that nice guard again.

I shuffled up against the wall and leaned forward, bearing with the nervous yet energetic energy that saturated the air around the guard as he unstrapped my straightjacket.

"Okay easy now, we're going to leave."

I stood easily enough then looked across the hall...This wasn't going to work. He was right across the hall from me!

Swallowing I cleared my throat, "What's your name?"

The guard froze, "Er, my name?"

I nodded politely and mentally calculated my chances and the time it would take to either be early and eat quickly then leave or arrive late and pick a seat far away from both him and my enemies. Of all the times to intergrate me back into the 'less crazed' group of Arkham, meaning more art therapy and cafeteria time, it had to be now.

"It's Ernest. Yes, Ernest Greene."

I smiled tightly (to smother the laughter) then leaned forward slightly but quickly stopped once I saw him tense and finger his baton, "I'm sorry to ask this Ernest but the..." filthy, vile creature, "man across the cell has been threatening me and I don't feel safe to eat in the cafeteria..."

I saw the guard frown sympathetically, "Oh...I'm sorry, er, do you have a name?"

I nodded, "Revis."

"Eh Revis, I'm sorry but there's not much I can do about that...I'm new here and—"

"Oh..." I said looking down seemingly dejected.

"Hey Revis, don't you worry. Sometimes I've seen guards wait for their charges while they eat, you know the dangerous ones. I could be kinda a look out for ya."

Too easy...

I looked up hopefully, "Really?"

He nodded and I smiled, "Thank you, Ernest."

Well I had some sort of security against this place although that didn't stop the hair from rising on my neck as I walked right past _his _smiling face. I wouldn't always be able to pull stunts like this and I wouldn't want to endanger Ernest just yet...but it may irk Dr. Crane and that was reason enough.

Even if Dr. Crane moved Ernest to a different post, I knew I'd make him uneasy despite the loss of a possible resource. Ernest was too new and hopeless to know much about the investigation but if I discretely played my hand, I might be able to wrap him around my finger and possibly earn some leverage.

I waited in line with Ernest practically glued to my side which helped with my reputation. Having guards at your side in a _lunch line_ meant a lot. After all, I was out of the inmates reach for almost a month—Who knew what gossip they had running around.

I grimaced at the platter I recieved.

Mmm, Arkham food...

Even after reading over the menu all those months ago, the food didn't sound appealing and now that I'm here it sure didn't _taste_ appealing.

"Well eh, where'd you wanna sit?" Ernest asked as he shuffled uneasily.

I scanned the cafeteria, flashed him a small, grateful smile, and walked to an empty table which was both near the exit and offered the best view of the entire cafeteria.

I sat down and quickly ate the curdled food, keeping my eyes open for—There...

I swallowed the pasty milk and fought the turbulent twists my stomach tied itself with in anxiety.

"What does that stuff even taste like?" Ernest asked in a bout of morbid curiosity.

After ensuring _he _hadn't spotted me yet while also noting the absence of my enemies, I nudged the tray to Ernest while taking an only slightly bruised apple for myself. I had no appetite for the rest.

Ernest paused and I took a moment away from my surveillance to watch him as he scowled, viewing the food as an unpleasant vegetable.

Oh poor Ernest, it was so much worse than that.

Bravely he took a bite using the same dull spork as I did.

Well that was a sign of either trust or acceptance, right?

Suddenly, he was violent sputtering and I choked slightly on my apple upon seeing the expression on his face and the amusing shade of purple that spread over the skin. He rubbed his throat, somehow finding the will to swallow and spare his taste buds, "Egh, that was horrible! How do you eat this?"

I smiled sympathetically around my apple, "Carefully and if I'm lucky, not frequently."

He reached for the milk and I only took another bite of my apple enjoying the free show like many of the inmates who watched and snickered or called out little jeers at the guard.

Apparently, he hadn't heard or paid them no mind for he took a large sip which made his green eyes bulge and the most amusing expression to come across his face. At this point, I was smiling widely without showing any teeth while most of the inmates around us were laughing and banging on the table.

He wiped his mouth with a look of pure revulsion and I found myself too humored to properly sympathize with him.

I was almost done with my apple when _he _sat down in front of me. His eyes ran over me chillingly then he stared deeply at the guard, "What are _you _doing here?"

Ernest quickly recovered and played the perfect knight, "Move along, there's nothing to see."

I took another bite of my apple and stood ready to leave with my tray. I glanced at Ernest who met my gaze then nodded and stood as well but as I walked by _him_ my tray suddenly hit the floor.

I gasped and backed away too shocked to immediately be swallowed by my anger.

The cafeteria was silent.

_He _stood up and angrily looked at me while he spoke in a calm voice, "Where are you going? I haven't seen you in almost six years."

I lifted up my chin defiantly even though my legs were shaking, "Ever think there was a _reason_ behind that?"

_He_ took a step forward and I stood my ground, wishing desperately for a weapon even that dull spork would be better than nothing as he reached out a hand toward me, "You're mine—"

I knocked away his hand and hit him with a solid left hook, instantly the silence was broken as the inmates roared for a fight.

However, he dodged the blow and tackled me onto the table. My breath was knocked out of me although I was sure I would have been at a loss for breath anyway, seeing as he held me pinned against the table, his face inches from mine while his thick, black hair fell onto my face.

"Don't fight me..." he leaned down, about to kiss me, when I brought my head forward sharply and connected with his forehead. He hissed and turned away which allowed me to kick him back and stand on the table, only to dizzily run past the trays and stray hands as I made my way to the cafeteria's exit.

I leaped off the table and ran.

It felt amazing to run (also amazing considering I never enjoyed running). I felt like I was using my legs for the first time as I ran past surprisingly empty hallways and down twisting corridors. My heart pounded with a mixture of euphoria and fear as I sprinted further from the cafeteria.

What was that? Who was following me?

I looked over my shoulder briefly to see _his _determined face as he sprinted, his pale skin seemingly glowing in the florescent lights or maybe that was the orange of his jumpsuit? Nevermind that, he was always faster than I was and I needed to focus. Impatiently, I pushed against a set of doors, thankful that I hadn't come across a locked portal or guard...

Seriously, where were the guards?

Two violent patients loose, one bent on attacking the other, I would think that required—Ah! I felt his hands graze my jumpsuit.

Gasping I ran faster, ignoring the painful pull in my side or the sweat rolling down the back of my neck. Quickly, I dashed around a sharp corner and overturned an abandoned cart of cleaning supplies—

Shit, he was still catching up.

I knew I would have to barricade myself in a room or something if I were to truly win. I couldn't—Was that a surgery room?

Involuntarily I slowed, breathing heavily only to remember I was being chased. Inhaling sharply I moved although mid run I was slammed into the thick, glass window of the surgery room.

I cried out and tried to wrestle with him but I was tired from running and the fact I've spent months in padded cells with little to no exercise coupled with malnutrition left me with little stamina.

"**STOP**!" I yelled but he only pressed into me harder, his body radiating heat.

"Tell me you love me! Say you'll never leave me!"

I screamed shrilly, hoping to attract someone's attention but he only muffled my scream with a hand around my throat.

I sputtered for air and he looked me deep in the eyes, "Behave..."

I fearfully looked at him and his expression softened. Releasing the hold on my neck, he grabbed my arms as I panted against the glass.

Oh no, this wasn't happening.

"I love you, Nicole...Don't you love me? You shouldn't have left me. I waited for you...all this time," he stopped to take a deep breath, "Why were you running from me? Not just today but before this..."

I hadn't caught my breath yet so I only shook my head, unable to reply through my burning lungs, pained side, and dry tongue. He tightened his grip and pushed me against the glass once more causing me to stare into his eyes, "Tell me you love me."

"L-Lucius..."

He smiled widely and I saw his eyes melt from a dark almost silver colour to a light grey, "I've missed you..."

"I don't love you, Lucius. Let me go—"

I was cut off as he kissed me.

Fuck!

He forced my mouth open and pushed his tongue inside. Spitefully, I bit down which caused him to retreat and glare at me. Staring at me, he roughly groped my breast and reached down to grab my hip.

I hissed in pain and tried to push against him, "Get off me!"

"Let me remind you how much you want this. How much you love me," he murmured lovingly as he nuzzled my head.

I pulled away sharply then widened my eyes as I realized—Unwillingly, I moaned as he bit my neck roughly...

No, not my neck.

"See, you love me, you need me—"

Tears fell down my cheeks, "No! Stop! Please, get off me. Don't do this..."

He began to suck on my neck while keeping me firmly pressed against the glass. I cried, ignoring the blush on my cheeks as I continued to struggle even though my strength was sapped.

He laughed, breaking contact with my neck to kiss along my jaw, "I remember every sensitive spot, every little touch that turns you on...and I remember you loving me so perhaps this will bring you to your senses."

He grabbed my hair and twisted his hand into the slightly sweaty locks to force me to look into his eyes as his other hand played along my waistband, "Say that you love me, Nicole."

I shook my head until he pulled my hair tighter and trailed a finger down my pants before cupping his hand around my womanhood.

I whimpered as tears fell freely while my shoulders shook, "P-Please no more, don't do this..."

"I wonder if you're wet already? If not you will be..." he broke off to suck on my neck once more and I wailed before my breath caught as he bit me roughly.

"That's enough," a cold voice said causing Lucius to back away from me although he simply moved his hand that was violating me to wrap around my waist, "Guess all you were too loud, Nicole," he tightened his hand in my hand painfully so my head was bent at an awkward angle, "Shall I make you scream now? Give the Doctor a show?"

I was beyond caring about weakness as I sobbed brokenly shaking my head and trying to sink against the glass.

Lucius only smiled tightly, "Why are you crying? We'll have plenty of time—"

"Release her!" more voices rose out calling out demands which were soon made real as he was pulled off me.

I sunk into the wall, crying and shaking.

"Dr. Crane, take her somewhere else until we get this sorted out."

"Very well."

Suddenly, there was a face in front of me. It was too blurred to make out through my tears although I recognized the mixture of brown, blue, and white that made up my psychiatrist. Apart from that, all I knew was that I was being helped up—Or rather carried with the way I leaned heavily on him.

Oh great, now he'd have more reason to mock me. Dammit, if I could find humor then why couldn't I stop crying?

We passed through another door and I tightened my grip into his suit as I shook my head. Weakly, I slumped to the floor, pulling him down with me.

"Revis?" he asked in a cautious voice bordering between concerned and threatening.

I tried to catch my breath as the tears fell but I couldn't stop the shaking, "I-I'm sorry. I-I'll be f-fine—"

Before he could speak to call my bluff or worse yet lecture me he tried to pull away but I held on tighter, "N-No, p-please don't go..."

"Revis, we're on the floor in the medical wing of Arkham. We need to move someplace else."

I nodded but refused to move from my position as I clutched onto his suit, my face buried into his chest as one of his arms was awkwardly hanging off my shoulder.

He sighed irritably before standing and steadying me before leading me somewhere else. We hadn't yet arrived at the destination when I started talking, "I-I thought I got away..." I laughed bitterly but that turned into a small sob, "I did everything right, h-he was gone...the courts had him sent away after—after..."

"Come now Revis, wait until we get to my office."

I sucked in a harsh breath but let him pull my trembling form along, somewhat savoring the tight grip he kept on my arm as I leaned into him while hating the memory of _his_ touch that seemed to burn.

No more...

If I was to ever escape Lucius, I needed help from someone else...not Ernest...not myself...but Dr. Crane. I took another deep breath, glad to no longer be crying although I continued to shake.

This was it, it was time to tell the truth.

Surprisingly enough, we made the journey to Dr. Crane's office and he successfully pried me off him in favor of one of the couch pillows suffering my tight grip. So here I was, curled up on the couch, my face feeling sore and my eyes hurting as I tightly clenched the pillow with the occasional tremor running through me...

There would be no pretenses on my part, I had to tell the truth.

Numbly, I stared at the carpet and began to speak.

"I don't know where to start..What really matters a-" I sucked in a breath and exhaled to calm myself, "about it? The truth is it's my fault...it's all my fault," for a moment I looked deeply into his eyes through his glasses, "and don't say I'm placing the guilt on myself. It _is_ my fault..." I exhaled and closed my eyes before starting back up again as I once more stared at the carpet.

"It began in sixth grade...I'm not sure why but I became depressed. Not just sad, I can't remember feeling sad, but cold, distant...numb...and I liked it. I began to crave it, I couldn't stand the sun or warmth, bright colours hurt my eyes even to this day. I didn't want anything to do with those bright things for the feelings the represented...feelings I learned were tainted.

'Nevermind that," I exhaled, licked my lips, then continued with my eyes closed, "That was the beginning of my unstable years...I was depressed and developed a sense of people anxiety. Middle school was hell and eventually it all became too much. I started having trouble just walking to school so paranoid and panicked about everyone around me. Later it worsened and I found I wouldn't be able to focus in class...Numbers made no sense to me, the only thing I could understand was literature."

I smiled and opened my eyes but didn't lift my gaze from the carpet, "I loved reading, it was my only escape and fueled my imagination and I suppose that was my downfall. Soon the people anxiety grew worse, it wasn't just the self hatred and warped sense of proportion it became the very energy that surrounded everyone. It felt as though their emotions were crushing me...It was tearing me apart. I remember walking home, one of the only times I was able to think over the tension at home, thinking I was either insane or something else...

'Later that 'something else' turned out to be an escape of sorts. Like I said, I blame the reading..." I paused to collect the strength to continue, "In sixth grade I had begun to write dark poetry, in particular about a serial killer. My mom heavily disapproved but I didn't care, to me it was just poetry. Looking back on it, it seemed so harmless but it was an idea that stuck in my head. So later toward the end of seventh grade when I was doubting my sanity and reality in general, that idea grew. Somewhere in between the end of seventh grade and that summer, I toyed with the idea of being _different._"

I coughed to clear my throat then continued, "What if, I used to think to myself, I was something else _different_ than everyone else. That would explain my aversion to the sun and people, it would explain the violent actions I took against anyone who bullied me. Miraculously, I wasn't caught but later those urges would change...I fought against the idea, yearned for it, tried to forget it but found myself unable to leave it alone...What if I was _different_?

'Somehow that _different_ turned into my character from those poems...At first, I just thought myself to not be human—Surely with the way I was alienated it was a believable thing...but then the flashbacks started. I began to see things that I couldn't explain meanwhile the emotions of everyone else, my poor comprehension skills, my violent urges...all of it grew much worse.

'By eighth grade I was convinced I had a past life which I was remembering through flashbacks and my poetry. The emotions, the _difference_ between myself and everyone was simply because I wasn't human. This was quite exciting as well as confusing but it was an outlet...One that grew. It was at this time I was getting to know Lucius..." I smiled bitterly, "I felt a strong instinct to stay away but I figured that was only because of his name...it was the same as my dad's."

I cleared my throat again and rubbed my eyes, "Anyway, we talked and he seemed fine. Smart, funny, well dressed in a way that was noticeable in a uniform school. Eventually, I grew to have a crush on him," I smiled, "I hated myself for it but one day I couldn't take it anymore and I told him I liked him. Surprisingly enough, he confessed to me too. The next day he asked me out and I thought it was the _sweetest_ thing ever..."

I quickly lost my smile, "After a month of dating, I told him I wasn't human. He took it in stride, perhaps thinking I was joking at first but then seemed to believe me. Within the week he told me he wasn't human either," I frowned deeply, "I was _overjoyed_ at the thought of not being alone, especially with the one person I found myself crazy for...

'He seemed odd enough, different from the rest, accepting of my violent behavior and odd interests," I sighed, "but it didn't last."

"He told me he was a vampire," I looked up and met Dr. Crane's eyes which were intently disecting my shaking form as he listened to the pouring information, "Yes I know, I laughed too until I realized he was serious. Curious, I asked him questions which he answered readily enough. In a way it made sense, he was the fastest runner, seemed more mature than others like he knew hardship...

'Then it got the point when he became distant. Pushed me away because of the 'thirst'. At this time I was cutting, so I offered him my blood. He refused for awhile but I insisted because I was generally concerned for him..."

I squeezed the pillow tighter.

"The first day I gave him my blood, we went to a nearby ditch which was more of a cement waterway but it had bridges and provided some privacy in an otherwise impartial and ignorant world. There was a condition to my cutting, he told me after that day I couldn't cut anymore...So I agreed thinking I would be able to stop. Anyway, I cut and he drank.

'He seemed so odd at the end. He growled and shoved me away. He seemed entirely different...and later on when I cut for him again, in highschool, he would hold me close afterward, growling and easily angered...He seemed completely animalistic."

I licked my lips and swallowed, "Cutting proved to be an addiction...One which grew harder to resist as my violent urges grew. I would vividly see the death of others by my hand and have the urge to act out what I saw. That combined with the gory memories and general suffering I received from school and my mom's disapproval of everything, left me torn apart.

'That instability would be the only constant thing for many years to come...Anyway, middle school came and went, and my family moved a few more times between friends and the poorer apartments. Eventually, we went to different highschools but at this point things were more dangerous than ever.

'He claimed to be part of a secret organization of non-humans, claiming to have fought in battles and whatnot."

I frowned.

"Makes me sick to my stomach to recall it, how easily I believed him...but it makes me more disgusted to remember how much I _worried_ over him. The way I cried and tried to support him however I could despite the voices...Oh I forgot to mention," I said suddenly looking at him once more before returning my gaze to the carpet, "In freshman year I was recalling more of my 'past life' and my job—After all, I was a contracted killer but there seemed to be something more...

'At this time, the emotions I felt grew stronger as I began to hone my senses. I'd be able to predict future events accurately as well as map out rooms I've never been in. The emotions were tied to these visions and feelings I received.

'Anyway, it was at school during lunch when I normally sat alone feeling targeted and unwanted I heard the voice...Later I identified the voice as my past life's father. That began a web of sticky situations with my past life's 'family'."

I shook my head regretfully, "So much pain...so much betrayal. It'd make an amazing book, everything that happened and there's too much to tell right now but the point was, I believed I could speak with the dead, even communicate telepathically with others. Although, I was unable to do the same with Lucius because we weren't the same species and we had different skills. I wasn't a vampire but I believed myself to be some variation of a deamon.

'So with these new mental conversations, adventures, and lessons—" I laughed bitterly losing my previous train of thought, "It was such an elaborate delusion...So interwoven with my life, each intricate detail fit and reflected my past, my life in ways I wasn't able to recognize.

'Anyway, Lucius' battles became more intense; the danger of those who wished him dead left me with anxiety and paranoia as he seemed to be wounded whenever we met. And so, I practiced mentally with the feelings and energy I felt, talked with my past family, even believed I was able to travel over different realms of reality within my mind if I slipped into a deep enough trance."

I breathed in a bit before glancing at him quickly before looking down again, "For almost four years I lived like this...years of worry, pain, betrayal, horror, guilt, struggling and then..."

I paused and closed my eyes before opening them and resuming, "Then one day I realized it wasn't real...I often had doubts, especially after Lucius' tales grew more and more unbelievable and my situations in the other realms became more predictable...

'Even so, it was earth shattering...To realize everything I believed in for _years_ was just a lie...I told Lucius I knew the truth and he confessed to lying about everything. For _years_ he lied to me, kept me in a web of delusions which _I_ started, but still...to go along with everything, to drink my _blood_ what—"

I broke off to exhale angrily, "It tore me apart. The following weeks were hellish. The energy and mental trauma I buried and coped with by fueling the delusion were now running rampant. I doubted reality, believed myself to be schizophrenic.

'I'd hear voices, see impossible things. My emotions were more unstable than ever and I found myself loathe to live. My cutting had been a struggle over those years but for the most part I was fine. I could live without it but soon I found there wasn't much I _could _tolerate. I wanted to die, for the longest time I was suicidal..."

I laughed bitterly, "Lucius was worried, kept pestering me. Even during the delusion things were stressed between us. I stayed with him for the memories. He claimed he had a past life who was working with me and sure enough I started to remember things. It was stuff like that which kept me with him: worry over his life, the familiarity, just knowing that I wasn't alone...that I was with my 'soulmate'...but he was constantly worrying over me.

'He wouldn't sleep well or eat much if he was worried. He'd stress himself out, be secretive, brush off his feelings then write long messages to send me on my e-mail later. He had me wound around his finger as I was too afraid of making him sad or hurting him to leave him or even protest as he did whatever he wanted to me..."

I clenched the pillow tighter, "He knew about the abuse when I was younger...my," I took a deep breath, "My father had abused me for years while I grew up in a controlled household with high expectations. There were expensive bribes to keep my mouth shut compared to the usual monetary and liberal restrictions my mother and siblings faced...but that all ended when I told my mom.

'She called the police, he was arrested, and we moved. Lucius knew everything about me yet still respected me, found me to be someone worth loving."

I glared harshly at the ground, "He claimed to never want to hurt me. No matter the way he would lose control when we were simply kissing or something which would lead to him growling, almost hurting me as he pinned me...harshly bit me...H-He was animalistic in certain ways, his eyes—"

I closed my eyes to calm myself although I continued to speak, "When someone changes you think there would be a noticeable sign...but there isn't. I just remember the way his eyes seemed so dark, how they glared at me while he growled..."

I opened my eyes, "It was easy to believe he wasn't human with how he acted even though he was sweet every other moment...Kind," I sneered disdainfully.

"Even when I was pushing him away, pleading for him to leave me alone he would do what he wanted with me, thinking it wouldn't matter that I was only playing 'hard to get' because I 'liked it rough' and he 'liked it when I struggled'...He used my own body against me, he had my heart and mind in his hand but even then that wasn't enough..."

I swallowed, "Anyway, so he was worrying over me while I was struggling with the fact that I lived years of my life in a lie...What was real? I wondered...I had no idea how to look at the world, how to look at myself. With something so real, so vital, just gone...?

'Then Lucius was becoming a problem. He was frequently bothering me, worrying to the point I was stressed as I tried to keep myself in the same image: managing grades, friends, family matters, all while trying to keep myself from loosing my grip on reality—No, not even that. I lost _that_ grip...I was just trying to live past the hour.

'So I broke up with him...I hadn't meant to but after I didn't call him for a week or so and he suffered so much: not eating enough, not sleeping, crying...I couldn't handle it all.

'At first he was understanding, then angry...very angry," I laughed bitterly and looked up at him, "He used to claim I've been through so much there was no need to ever put me through more. He'd bottle up his anger and that would frustrate me to the point I was practically begging him to hit me so he would express something other than 'it's okay' or 'oh it's nothing'..."

I shook my head, "Anyway, he ended up being sad. Heartbroken and oh so very lost. I wasn't sure how to handle everything but I wasn't prepared for his reaction...

'It started as denial. He was convinced my mom forced me to break up with him or something equally ridiculous. Thankfully, we were late arriving home that day and he wasn't there.

"Next there came the depressing statuses, the long messages begging me to talk about 'normal things': 'Where was I?', 'Why wasn't I online?', 'How was my day?', 'How was I doing?'. It was driving me insane even if I was responsible...After all, I'm the one who pulled him into the delusion. He didn't have to play along—Hell, he could have _left_ at any time but he didn't...and because of that I drove him insane..."

I sighed softly, "I was hurt. Honestly, I believe I cried more than he did all in all but I moved on...or so I tried. Then he started leaving letters at my door, trying to invite me over one more time. Wouldn't stop calling my house. He even showed up at my door one night looking perfect."

I bitterly smiled and glanced up once more before looking down, "Little antics like that happened until later I realized the whole time he was twisting me around his finger even more. He shocked me, looking the same as usual...then after hugging him and telling myself not to melt into his touch or not to beg for forgiveness was hard—but it hurt more knowing I was being played over again...

'The letters didn't stop. I had him blocked from my accounts yet I still found myself paranoid and unable to focus on school. My friends were angry and most wanted to personally settle the matter but I tried to convince them to leave it alone...

'Then he started contacting them, asking why I broke up with him, if I was alright, if I would ever talk to him again. It was suffocating...After bearing with contacted him after he was getting ready to come over again telling him to let me go or I'd go to the police..."

I took a deep breath, "But the messages kept coming...Then I found out about the countdown. He started some cryptic countdown timed to what would have been our two year, one month anniversary. He was asking for weapons and saying really odd things. Four days before the day, I contacted my school's police and that lead to a full out investigation on everything.

'That day they arrested him. Later, he was charged with stalking and domestic abuse. The whole event left me worn out...Not to mention within that month I had a breakdown and confessed to cutting and the delusion at school which lead to my admittance to the mental ward of a hospital.

'I told them everything although not in too great of detail and yet they told me I was 'the perfect candidate for counseling' and had a 'creative outlet'..." I looked up to Dr. Crane, "I highly doubt _years_ of my life spent in a delusion would be considered an 'outlet' but it was so easy to get out of with all the pointed questions.

' 'Do you understand that was a delusion?' , 'Do you feel more stable now?' —It was ridiculous. I knew I was insane or at least morally lacking with my bitter outlook and detached behavior but to tell me I was relatively 'normal' aside from my habit of intellectualizing everything. It left me seriously doubting either their honesty or professional capability."

I looked down again.

"Anyway, I began to cope...I struggled but was coping. The trial turned out fine, he was sent to some behavioral classes and I tried to get on with my life. For the longest time I struggled while thinking over things. Wondering what was real...I gave up the idea of any abilities or religion as both were mixed into my delusion and both were too painful, too confusing, to understand.

'But the emotions I felt before, I still felt them even then...The energy I used in my delusion enabling me to feel what others felt grew to the point I would actually see into someone's psyche or sometimes catch a train of thought or past memory if I touched them. It was weak at the time but it was growing...

'I tried to forget about it but it never left me. Even so, my violent urges lessened. I held down a steady job at a sandwich shoppe and found myself taking a great interest into the violin," I smiled, "I remember practicing for hours and hours only stopping when my shoulder burned with knots and my fingers were numb and bruised.

'I was coping...Then in senior year I found another boyfriend and I thought maybe I would be able to leave my past behind. Our relationship wasn't too serious, I hadn't told him anything personal. After all, it had only been two months but I had hope...or at least I did before Lucius came back. I didn't know it at the time but later I learned he had never stopped following me. That night he confronted my boyfriend, positively livid, ranting on, acting absolutely crazy...then he killed him."

I was quiet for a moment before continuing, "We had plans to leave to Canada, both of us had scholarships for our musical talents...I thought maybe I'd be able to trust him with my past, maybe even love him...but he was killed. I called the police and Lucius was arrested while I moved to Gotham to study and work as a mortician as my _skill_ only grew worse and worse..."

I looked into Dr. Crane's eyes, "And now he's back...H-he's back and he won't let go."

Tears I didn't know I had building up spilled over.

Dr. Crane didn't say anything as I buried my head in the pillow and simply cried.


	18. Chapter 16: Obsession and Possession

**Ello! Minion here!**

****First, I would like to thank everyone for their wonderful support and kind words. Truly, I was suprised to see such kind hearted responses and such interesting ideas suggested. Thank you all for reviewing and reading!****

**Now onto the chapter.**

**Oh? What's this: A short chapter? Yes, it's short but it's in Dr. Crane's POV and the next four chapters (MUCH longer) will be in his POV as well. So enjoy the treat, I know you all have missed his chilling mind although this chapter is a bit mild compared to the others I have ready. **

**Yet it is also necessary to the story as it gives a small glimpse of Dr. Crane's thoughts, whereas _next_ chapter is almost entirely devoted to his thoughts concerning a multitude of topics all revolving around that stange mortician we've become so familiar with. I promise after chapter 17 there will be more action or at least a deepr look into Dr. Crane's life and work but for now this chapter will suffice.**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman/ Batman Begins with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 16 Dr. Crane POV<strong>

I was still for a moment...

After all, that was quite a confession and I would need time to think things over but until then Ms. Revis needed to be taken account of.

I felt along the underside of my desk for the call button ignoring the way my bandaged hand felt clumsy. I was just thankful her bite on my neck was easily covered by my shirt's collar but that stab to my hand hurt more than I had thought.

Immediately, two men came into the room and lifted Revis who was still sobbing. They paused, looking to me for further instructions.

"Take her back to her cell. Wait there until I contact you again."

They nodded and proceeded out the door leaving me to my thoughts...

In a few minutes, I would call the guards over their communication system and give them my orders which ought to keep Revis under close watch. This fiasco would not escape notice from the staff or those here for that troublesome investigation.

Not only was I already under suspicion but both Revis and that other nutter were under my supervision.

I could not afford to take blame for this...

Although, come to think of it, I was only readying myself to leave the asylum when I passed a hallway and noticed two patients who were both unescorted and out of control. To my dismay, I recognized both patients to fall under my care and realized there must have been a mistake within the system to allow such _dangerous _patients to so easily roam the halls.

Oh yes, that would make a wonderful alibi.

Security may take the fall for the issue. During the cafeteria break, most the security staff were dismissed for a debriefing on new material to be used for the asylum's already tight system. Yet under the lack of supervision, two volatile patients managed to stir up trouble amongst the crazies and cause need for repair to Arkham property.

Even if the crazies, themselves, were taken into account my alibi held tight. Revis was already scheduled for a new 'medication' next week which would allow the lapse of restraint on her behavior to flow unchecked. Meanwhile, the other nutter was a difficult case to medicate due to his obsession rather than behavioral, hallucinatory, or delusional breed of insanity. Come to think of it, maybe it was time to have another session with that nutter.

Later this afternoon would suffice. Then afterward, I'd buy more time to retrace my steps and ensure my lab had not been discovered. The investigation was straying close to my work, poking around where they were unwanted...

I exhaled tiredly.

It seems I had a few phone calls to make before the night was through.

Lifting the phone and once more cursing the somewhat awkward way I was forced to hold the phone, I dialed the number of the security dispatch, "Hello?"

"Eh, is that you Crane?"

I clenched my jaw, "Yes it is, Mr. Cedar. I called in two guards to escort patient 81395 to her cell then await my call. Can you patch me through to them?"

"Why do you wanna talk to 'em, Doctor?"

"As of the security breach earlier, I find it necessary to strengthen the watch over those two patients. The details will be made apparent at a later time...Now if you please—"

"Ya ya, don't get all riled up. Here ya are."

There was a moment of static before I heard a newer, lighter voice answer, "Officer Greene, reporting."

"Yes, Mr. Greene. You are one of the guards who escorted patient 81395 to her cell, correct?"

There was a pause before I heard a small chuckle, "Oh Revis, yeah got the poor girl back."

I felt my eyebrow twitch.

How did he know my patient?

"Ah yes, I would like you and the other guard to stand watch outside her cell. In particular, I request that you report any words, gestures, or transgressions between the two patients who breached security earlier. If my information is accurate, their cells are across from one another?"

"Er, sure Dr. Crane. Is that all?"

"No, I would like a separate escort for Patient 12214 to come to my office for an unscheduled session."

"Okay Dr. Crane. Will do, sir!"

The connection ended and I found myself adding more speculations to my growing list of doubts concerning the incompetent staff and security of Arkham. Due to their ignorance, I was able to carry out my work undisturbed yet their inferiority made daily conversing a strained affair. Not to mention, the wearing pressure from that investigation.

Brutality, medication, security, the list of tangents seemed to grow further each day. Humane rights to the crazies would normally be simple enough to evade or push off into the bottom of some forsaken pile of bills to be passed but now with the close supervision of 'Gotham's Finest' more immediate actions were being put into motion.

Actions I did _not_ approve of.

There was a short knock at my door before the nutter was pushed through surprisingly enough without a straightjacket. He pushed his thick, black hair out of his eyes as he narrowed his gaze and walked to the couch with a tall gait where he sat down with his hands behind his head in a show of confidence.

"Well Doc, you wanted to see me?"

I cleared my throat, "Yes, I wished to discuss the events earlier—"

His eyes tightened and he leaned forward holding his hands together in this lap, "That's not the problem...No, you see the problem was before that, back in the cafeteria—" he stood and began to pace, "_That's_ the problem..." he paused letting his gaze flicker around before resting on me once more, "_He _was talking with her."

"He?" I asked keeping both my expression and tone neutral.

The nutter sat back down and loosely folded one leg over the other while he played with the fabric on his orange jumpsuit, "Some guard was at the table, sitting _near_ her..." he looked at me with a calculating gaze, "I only wanted to talk with Nicole. After all, it's been years since we've last met face to face and yet she was pressured to leave by that guard."

Why was an Arkham security officer waiting on Revis during meal breaks? Was that officer the same one I talked with before? He _did_ show a familiarity toward Revis...

I furrowed my eyebrows to give the illusion of my interest, "How was he pressuring her?"

His pale skin smoothed over into a cool mask, one I recognized from my own experience.

"The moment I approached her, the guard began protesting and started to lead her away. I only made a distraction to talk to her again but she _attacked_ me?"

His dubious expression lead me to believe he either thought himself above others rebuttal or believed Revis held genuine feelings for him. Yet before I had the chance to reply, he continued.

"I tried to calm her down but she started running so I had no choice but to run after her," a cold smile spread across his face, "She was clearly panicked but seemed unresponsive to anything I did. After all, I was only trying to calm her down. She must have been so lonely without me..."

He sighed theatrically then looked over me with an superior look, "I don't understand why people are unable to see that she's mine. We belong together, we're _soulmates_ and yet I see others trying to pull her away from me—Including you, Doc."

A cruel smile spread over his features, "Did you want her for yourself? Because I don't share. She's _mine_ and that's how it will always be. I told her I'd be waiting and I've been patient but now my selfless act has paid off..." He gave me a cold look, "I want to see her, even if it's supervised. I want to be with her everyday."

I raised both my eyebrows, "That's an unrealistic request, Mr. Gray."

He lost any pretense of manners as he glared at me with a precise look meant to get under my skin which amused me as much if not more than the whole charade he was putting on. I had no time for an insecure, possessive loon with no sense of priority or rationality.

"That wasn't a request, Doc."

Again with that ridiculous nickname, "Due to the commotion caused earlier today you will be kept under close watch and any interaction with Nicole will be scarce if nonexistent."

He exhaled heavily before collecting his wits again, "You won't take her away from me, Doc. You can't have her."

I resisted the urge to laugh, he had no idea the power I held over his precious 'Nicole'. Every moment she spent in the asylum was heavily regulated by my watch. I approved every reaction taken in response to her actions as well as future plans in case she should fall out of line.

If anything, I _owned_ Revis while he was pathetically, not to mention vainly, trying to burrow his way back into her life. He was mistaken, Revis had no life outside of the asylum...outside of _my _asylum.

"I assure you, Mr. Gray, I have no romantic interest in Nicole. My only interest lies in my profession. I am here to ensure her recovery as well as yours."

He laughed in good humor, "Did you think I would believe that? If you want you could watch. Have a group session with just me and her and you can supervise the entire time. I'm sure our 'recoveries' are closely linked but I will have her."

His absurd proclamations were grating on my nerves.

"What progress would be made from a joined session?" I asked calmly.

His face lit up as he spoke happily, "We'd be together again and everything would be perfect. I only wanted to be with her and she just needed time to work out some issues but once we're together there wouldn't be a problem."

"Living in an asylum for the criminally insane doesn't bother you?"

He shrugged, "The food's shit and those cells are cold as fuck but hey it's free and we're together. Maybe we'll get one of those larger cells and she can share with me," he smirked, "I'd keep her warm at night although I'm doubtful she'll get a lot of sleep."

How disgustingly vulgar, had he no shame or sensibility?

Revis has shown nothing but antisocial behavior and aggression to anyone who neared her...except for those moments when she clung to me. Of course, those were decisions made under duress which counted for close to nothing. No matter how estranged from humanity, everyone yearned for comfort in times of panic or unease.

There was also that guard...

He seemed friendly enough with Revis and if he was the same guard as the one the nutter spoke of...Why that would allude to Revis making some amicable actions toward him. Even if it were for only personal gain that sort of cunning behavior was a dangerous factor.

I admit I had counted on her instability and violent behavior to distance her from everyone else but if she managed to overcome that personal obstacle then I would have to revise my plans...

"Shared cells are a rarity, especially for high profile cases such as Nicole's. If your rehabilitation is a success then you will be transferred to Blackgate Penitentiary."

His gaze was hard once more, "I'll do whatever it takes to have her. No one will stand in my way."

We locked gazes for a moment before he shifted his gaze to my shoulder and frowned.

Immediately, he shot up and pointed at my suit, "What's that? She left with you didn't she? Was she crying on you?" his voice rose as he became increasingly angry as he saw what must have been the tear stains from earlier when she all but threw herself atop me, refusing to let go as she cried.

"That breaches doctor-patient confidentiality, Mr. Gray," I replied smugly, thoroughly enjoying the look of panic in his eyes as his thoughts rapidly shot through his head running over the possibilities and delusional misgivings that would only spur his possessive edge and irrational behavior.

"Bullshit! Tell me what you did with her!" he walked up to my desk although I remained calm knowing both my fear toxin and the call button were within easy reach. He slammed his hands on the edge of my desk and leaned over in a sad attempt to intimidate me, "She's _mine..._"

Coolly I pressed the call button before I responded, "I believe we are out of time for today, Mr. Gray."

He glared at me heatedly but was pulled away by two guards who lead him away...

You were mistaken you lunatic. I owned Revis just as I possessed the power to destroy you.


	19. Chapter 17: Revelation

**Ello! Minion here! Wow, what a wonderful week it's been! I would like to thank everyone who has reviewed and read my humble yet demented story. I'm very pleased that I can entertain you all with my writing! A thousand spoonfuls of nutella cannot equal my elation at seeing such wonderful comments! - Although the pain of smiling so much is about equal to the stomache I would have if I ate as much!**

**Yet I have wonderful news! I forgot to mention it on last week's post, but on Wensday, June 27, I finished the sequel! It's been a long journey to write both Mors Et Timor and Timor Et Mors and I know the fun isn't even halfway over seeing as my wonderful Megamind and I will be joining our characters in a third story (eventually). Her story is undergoing major construction at the moment and there is no sure publication date but I am uber excited to read the new chapters and I hope you all will love them as much as I do when they're up (no definite time in mind seeing as she is currently working on multiple writing projects). **

**Yet so much of these past years have gone into my two stories (and countless oneshots between Megamind and myself) it's quite a stunning thing to think of how it all started. Just one chemistry class in highschool, a building friendship, talk of Batman and BOOM! I owe my obsessive fangirling and undying love of Dr. Crane (almost three years worth!) to my amazing Megamind who introduced him to my life just as our entire series is sparked from a naughty oneshot (my first attempt at such writing as well!) I wrote with Joker and her (at the time) unofficial character. Amazing how such small things turned into such wonderful opportunities and magical adventures! Yet enough of my sappy reminiscing because there are amazing times to be had within this story, the sequel, and our combined story (which I am in the process of plotting-Seriously, my head is never quiet thanks to all the characters running rampant!)**

**Oh and minor note on this chapter, the year of this story was difficult to decide upon for a variety of reasons but I chose '2009' because 09/10 was my sophmore year when I was introduced to Dr. Crane and because there's a dress in the second story which is a pre-fall 2012 number that would correctly aline with the amount of years that pass (although by the time that chapter is up we'd be well into 2013...but shhhh)**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman/ Batman begins with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 17<strong>

Inconclusive...All of it was useless rubbish.

No matter how many times I poured over the police interrogations, security film at the asylum, the records of her behavior/daily life from various testimonies, even the fourteen _overly_ detailed journals depicting the life of her 'patients' that were confiscated from her desk (a feat considering the impossibly small writing), and my own personal notes I was unable to accurately map out Revis' odd reaction to my fear toxins.

Taking my newly learned information into account revealed more of her character and decent or rather reunion with insanity but lacked answers. Meanwhile, thoughts of her earlier confession were taking root in my mind...

Already, I found myself intrigued and wished I were able to speak with her when she was under her previous delusion in order to map out a deeper sense of her psyche—Instead of dealing with her current delusion which only emphasized her pitiful attachment to the weak and association with those who were worthless. Yet other points of her confession would prove useful.

Her claims of faulty concentration and so forth proved the point further, when taking her earlier confession of conflicting emotions and unreliable memory into account the signs of altered growth were heavily noted. Perhaps the absence of such a structured household and controlling influence left her shocked which then turned to depression. The strain of her childhood would have been alleviated by her delusion but it was the oddities she spoke of both before, during, and after her delusion which caught my attention.

Her social anxiety or rather _phobia_ might have morphed into a warped sense of perception in her daily life. Such negative emotions, blocked memories, and traumatic experiences would have crippled her senses and driven her into a deeper state of panic. As she said before, she had the habit of detaching herself from her emotions to intellectually view her feelings and memories. That need for a controlling power, aloof yet omnipresent, would have lead into a seemingly 'rational' explanation for her scarred mind.

However, the warped sense of perception, specifically when others were around, didn't fully explain the way in which she 'felt' the emotions of others. Self loathing, low self esteem, social awkwardness all of those were found readily enough yet to 'feel' the emotions of others stretched the idea of projection a bit too far. Within her delusional time she mentioned that her empathy was growing stronger and lead onto other 'abilities' that she later refused to acknowledge after the delusion even though the empathy and ability to sense 'energy' remained.

Perhaps it was a lingering sense of trauma, a mix of delusion and projection, but upon viewing the police interrogations and viewing her wording of 'seeing' in a new light...

Well, I wasn't sure what to think.

As a mortician her cognitive and mathematical skills would demand a firmer, stable, mindset as well as diligence toward her work. The 'coping' methods she spoke of were often outlets to occupy her mind and distract her from her own twisted psyche. Studying and working as a mortician would definitely provide a consuming distraction while distancing herself from others and deepening the rift between her conscience and broken psyche.

Yet I had no explanation for the 'energy' she spoke of; delusional thinking seemed too general of a conclusion especially in the light of our earlier sessions when she fainted from 'too much energy'. The mind was powerful, sometimes betraying its own body in order to keep the lies and illusions alive although her true delusion was her obsession with death and its image.

There were hardly a popular amount of stories proclaiming that particular skill when referencing death and even if I were to look at her 'ability' in a different light, there was not much evidence in her favor. I wasn't ignorant to the oddities many 'villians' possessed although their abnormalities stemmed from scientific sources not psychological means.

Thinking back to our first encounter, she seemed a bit odd in both behavior and words. Mr. Cedar's remark concerning her diligence toward whatever case she was presented proved to be accurate as well as a minor understatement. The devotion to her 'patients' verged on obsession. The obvious similarity between her troubled past and the dead not to mention her murdered boyfriend showed a sense of compassion for victims.

After the trauma she suffered, it only made sense she would be drawn to those, like her, who had fallen to a darker fate. She found solitude with the dead a sort of connection to her own pathetic life.

What had she said earlier? The living were always changing, lying but the dead were still? That only furthered the strange logic which was supported by her jaded past and longing for comfort even if it was found in the still presence of the dead.

Over some period of time, she confused her connection and became deluded into believing herself to be Death itself merely caring for her 'charges'. When this transition occurred I was unsure but the idea corresponded with the reasoning behind two of her murders in which both had desecrated the dead in some manner. _How_ exactly she figured out their faults remained a mystery just as her random acts of violence towards seemingly normal—

Wait a moment.

Frowning, I played back a security tape a month or so back when Revis attacked a woman in the cafeteria on account of 'self defense'. I watched the scene closely as the blonde, tall woman walked toward the camera intending to dispose of her trash unaware of Revis who sat staring blankly at the table before—

What was that?

I zoomed in a bit to focus on the two women and noticed Revis' eyes widening mere seconds before the blonde even entered her peripheral vision. After that, Revis narrowed her eyes and seemed to be concentrating. A dark expression set over her and she seemed tense as the blonde crazie walked by unsuspectingly until Revis lashed out with the only thing at hand: a celery stick.

The blonde was taken off guard yet tried to free herself while Revis tightly gripped her shoulder, eyes ablaze with the same fury I remembered her feeling as she recalled the desecrating actions of both her boss and 'that tramp'. Security quickly broke up the matter, easily restraining her even as she lunged for the woman again uncaring of the many bodies which pressed against her. Even if she was in a psychotic rage, I noticed odd behavioral patterns which didn't match up to this tape.

For example, when the two orderlies came to inject Revis with her original medicine for the first time she reacted strangely...

Reaching into a cabinet, I shuffled through the discs from my sessions with Revis. I kept the video recordings of my room in a separate, unknown file since recorded sessions between patients and doctors were not enforced although many doctors kept digital files as well as hidden audio recordings on their patients. I wasn't too concerned with organization seeing as Revis was my only patient who I saw regularly; however, I was pleased to note I dated each video with a small note of description already encoded.

There it was, disc: Session Med. R/SB 9/8/09. The coding was translated to read " Revis' suspicious behavior during session for medication 9/8/09". The small attempts at secrecy wouldn't baffle a clever man but the point was to deter immediate suspicion as well as give a sense of importance to the session aside from date.

After placing the disc within the laptop I kept in the bottom drawer of my desk, I minimized the current window showing the surveillance tapes as I enlarged the recorded video. Due to the camera's placement, the scene was filmed from one of the side walls allowing the camera to see the entire room. I sped through our beginning conversation and past the beginning struggle between Revis and the two orderlies but I paused then played when she tripped. The men descended on her and she fought back but where was it...

Ah, there.

I paused the video to rewind a bit and play it again so I was able to map out her actions clearly. She seemed to withdraw the arm the second orderly reached for while simultaneously lunging for him with her other arm.

That was odd behavior indeed.

She clearly shied away from any physical contact, that much was clear from the police interrogations and her reaction upon shaking my hand then seeing me once more in my office for our first session. Yet in the video she tried to flee from the danger by simultaneously moving aside and attacking.

I paused the video then opened the window with the security tape and played the part of Revis' restraint once more.

Odd...

She didn't pull away or give any mind to those who were pressed against her. Instead, she seemed solely focused on attacking that woman.

What if—No, it was a ridiculous presumption to even begin to think Revis was speaking of a _real _talent instead of some maniac musings.

Running my hand through my hair, I licked my lips and thought over her behavior and the similarity between the expressions she used during her recollection of her victims' crimes as well as her attack against the woman. Revis' main trigger aside from aggression toward herself lied in the dead.

Any mistreatment or slander directed toward her beloved 'charges' would end in dire results by her hand. The attachment she felt for the dead extended beyond her own views and self preservation. Yet there was no connection between the crazie she attacked and her other victims.

Unless...

Curiously, I rewound the surveillance tape to zoom in on the crazie's ID number sewn onto her jumpsuit. Memorizing the number, I then opened the Arkham database to enter the number in the search engine. After a moment of waiting, I learned the identity of the blonde crazie.

Ignoring my doubt, I then shuffled through a yet another drawer containing the files of all patients which all doctors were open to copies of in my cabinet looking for a particular file. I was highly doubtful the nut held any connection to Revis in the outside world or made any comments toward the dead before that day that might have offended her but looking over her profile may shed some light.

Let's see, Mary Addams: age 28, Caucasian, female, blonde hair, blue eyes, Antisocial Personality Disorder...There was no connection.

Frustrated, I skimmed over the file and read the police reports—

What was this?

"_Mary Addams was found 0830 in her attic after calls from concerned neighbors reported a stench 'like that of a dead body' from the house. Upon lack of reception police entered the premise to search the house for Ms. Addams. Ms. Addams was found mutilating a heavily decomposed, rotting corpse later identified as her late grandfather Willard Addams who's alleged molestation charges concerning his granddaughter had been declared inconclusive two years prior. Ms. Addams was found not guilty of murdering her grandfather but failed to report his death the previous month instead taking disturbed actions against his corpse."_

I frowned deeply...

Desecration of an improperly disposed corpse would definitely anger Revis. Even so, I wondered if the extent of her devotion meant looking past a possible victim who faced similar traumas in defense of a deceased man.

_"Death discriminates against no one and in the end when there's no one alive to remember the faults of another or the changing whims of society, nothing will matter for death is obsolete."_

Her logic was flawed and contradicting in itself but the will behind the endeavors concerning those she found guilty troubled me greater than her misguided morals.

Then again Revis had no prior contact with the loon and no reason to lash out— "_It grew to the point I would actually see into someone's psyche sometimes a train of thought or past memory if I touched them. It was weak at the time but it was growing..." _

It was ridiculous to give her credit to her word. After all, she was just a crazie with an odd defense against my fear toxin—

Defense.

In one of our sessions, I brought up the incident in which Revis proudly justified her actions as 'self defense' before zoning out and abruptly becoming nervous as she changed the subject. Surely such a thing wasn't possible.

After all, she hadn't touched the woman...then again, if her 'skill' was expanding perhaps she was able to see—

No, that was ludicrous. Not only was the notion of viewing someone's past or thoughts through touch absurd if her sensitivity was so great she would have been overwhelmed—

_"I-I couldn't defend myself." _

At the time the statement had confused me. Revis seemed to hold a reserve of anger and a penchant for violent behavior until I medicated her which in turn dulled her emotions as she became still and controlled.

Other patients under the same medication had complained of slow thinking or distorted reasoning but even if thinking and managing her emotions (albeit unwisely) gave her an edge against others, once she was rendered calm and docile there shouldn't be a noticeable difference. Then again, she was targeted and as I later saw from the surveillance tapes brutally beaten without so much as a hand raised in defense.

No, it was merely her unwillingness to act out which restrained her from defending herself atop the annulling effects of the medicine which caused her to become such easy prey. Although, I was unable to explain her knowledge of the crazie's past, Revis was just another maniac like the rest of them. She was beyond logic and apparently beyond fear...

Well only beyond synthesized fear, seeing as my fear toxin's proved futile due to her morbid fascination.

I groaned as I remembered her elated smile and sympathetic gaze as she told me she was a 'zombie sympathizer'.

Of all things she might have associated my presence with she found me to resemble a _zombie_ under the effects of my fear toxin and mask_— _

Why, it was practically an insult.

I rolled my eyes in disbelief.

I took the persona Scarecrow for a reason but apparently a decaying zombie suited me as well. Nevermind that, the main interest of her reaction appeared when I confronted her without my mask or toxin. Only then did she seem truly terrified.

In the past, I've reduced her to tears and panic by simply talking or touching her without any violent reactions aside from the stab wound on my hand and mostly healed bite on my neck yet my more drastic measures are easily thwarted with not even a hint of retaliation.

Her recollection and signs of conflicting emotions, morbid episodes, violent behavior, and her delusion of being 'Death' lead me to diagnose her under Major Depression with Psychotic Features. Unfortunately, her changes in mood and delusion acted as a self defense mechanism to my toxins. For in the beginning, she reacted appropriately by shaking, whimpering, falling into the fetal position, and so on but that stage never lasted longer than a few minutes or so before she adapted to whatever frightened her with some 'curiosity' or some other irrational notion.

My drug was more than a hallucinatory gimmick for the victim was instilled with an overall sense of peril or unease. General perception was distorted along with whatever fears were revealed in others or from thin air.

In small doses fear gave off similar reactions to adrenaline which might seem pleasant to a hardcore adrenaline junkie but I highly doubted she _enjoyed_ fear itself. The panic and terror far surpassed any pleasurable sensations one may receive from dangerous recreational sports.

I returned the file and disc to their proper places then I closed the windows of the surveillance tapes in order to turn off my laptop but I didn't bother to clear off the thirteen small, black journals filled cover to cover with boring details over the dead which she was _so _fond of.

I sighed tiredly.

This was beyond useless.

No matter the videos, files, and all my psychiatric training I found the key to Revis' fear just beyond my reach. To exploit her fear of humanity and perhaps her fear of her past in the future provided or would provide decent results but I found myself unsatisfied. Simple mood changes wouldn't stand in the way of perfecting my different toxins. Every mind was able to feel fear unless chemical measures were taken beforehand and yet she remained resilient to my compound.

Upon further research into her behavior and mind I hoped to figure out her way of thinking and maybe unearth a promising solution but I was only met with flawed logic from a disturbed mind which often lead to violent behavior.

There was a great difference in the woman I had met before she was admitted and the crazie I saw each week. Before she was almost the same: distant, cold, smug at times, usually quiet but in our first encounter she was dedicated to her work. She held a professional visage and a seemingly backward but harmless lifestyle.

Then not even a month later, she commits a murder from brazen assumptions— Wait a moment.

Upon recalling the reason behind the murder of her assistant, she claimed he was lying to her, trying to lull her into a false sense of security. It was later revealed the man had a drinking problem and lashed out toward his wife yet he lacked any disrespect to the deceased.

While other employees at the morgue testified to his drinking problems none knew of his past or any illegal behavior. At first, I assumed Revis was simply paranoid but upon my question as to _how _she knew his 'true self' she broke off on a tangent to distract me—

Or so I had thought.

She accurately and _dangerously_ figured out the barely noticeable marks on my neck were from hastily removing my burlap mask causing the twine to pull the fabric tightly against my throat. Even if she didn't guess the actual fabric or its function, she was able to estimate seemingly every other detail.

For a moment, the cold professionalism completely returned allowing her to make precise conclusions without any previous knowledge. Quite an achievement compared to the small glimpses of that controlled mentality which were resurfacing (or were _before_ my other crazed 'patient' arrived) but even her breakthrough had been easily discarded once I distracted her with the mention of her glasses.

At the time, I believed her assessment was merely a distraction but if I were to think over her words in another context...

She claimed to see his true self, was she referring to the same 'sight' concerning the 'energy' or did she somehow stumble upon his past—

No, that was out of reason.

I've made contact with her just as many of the guards yet she gave no sign of knowing anything and only seemed disturbed by my close proximity...

Although, she did mention the 'energy' around me twice before while she seemed dazed by either mental exhaustion or close contact between us.

_If_ I were to _hypothetically _take her word for truth that would entitle her to view the dark secrets and conscience of anyone she made contact or (as seen in the surveillance video) stumbled upon.

Yet when she was first taken to Arkham she was a mess, a complete turn around from the professional woman I met in the nut's cell and again in a forensic's lab. It took weeks of her near animalistic behavior to settle down into a numbed state which I viewed first hand in our first session.

Hmm, there was some missing link between her behavior and by default the management of her 'talent'. After all, if she worked alongside the dead and dealt with the general crowds of the public she would need some control over her skill to survive so long without detection—

Or so she would have if she didn't work the graveyard shifts and have her groceries delivered. However, that wasn't a conclusive piece of evidence for the antisocial behavior might be an exaggerated attempt at seclusion against her social anxiety and awkward behavior.

Yet for the sake of my minor hypothetical scenario, whatever she did to control her 'skill' it worked well enough until she lost it.

Yet when did that happen? Why did it happen?

During the time between the hanged nutter and her arrest she acted no differently at work or at least that's what her coworkers said. Then again, she was quite solitary and withdrawn at work as well. Either way, it was obvious the change occurred later on.

Something would have to startle her out of the practiced, controlled mindset she used within her work (presumably along with her private life which seemed nonexistent according to reports of her small, sparse apartment mainly filled with books) and force her into a hostile, psychotic behavioral pattern which she displayed upon her admittance to Arkham—but what? She seemed lucid until the end.

Even the police reported her to be calm and compliant as they took her to the station after her violent 'experiment' which meant killing and torturing others didn't disturb her although their deeds did.

Once more, I wondered how she had stumbled across the incriminating information when the police had difficulty figuring out a relation between the victims.

Nevermind that, after personally watching the interrogation video, I noticed her calm behavior before she shut down only speaking after hours of failed interaction between the officers. Even then, she only showed signs of psychosis and talked in contradicting circles then fell into a state of delirium and panic. Well, to be specific the panic hadn't appeared until the officer mentioned Arkham...

Yet why would the mention of Arkham unsettle her so much? She seemed nervous within its walls upon our first meeting but most are when inside this metal hell. She also gave pause at the sight of the nutter who hanged himself on his straightjacket— Was it the manner of death which bothered her or the instrument of death?

On the other hand, when we entered the morgue she had no problem with the straightjacket or speaking of the asylum. In a way the morgue would act as a safety blanket due to its familiarity but why would she feel uneasy around the asylum?

Suddenly a sequence of memories raced through my mind causing me to smile widely as I looked down at an open page to a journal she kept for her 'patients'.

My, my, Revis, what an unexpected surprise.


	20. Chapter 18: The Meeting

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to give thanks to everyone who was read or reviewed my humble yet demented story! It's always a pleasure to hear your thoughts and see your reactions!**

**Yet for this chapter, I have a bit of explaining to do. As I've mentioned before, I will be using bits of 'Jonathan Crane: The Origin of The Scarecrow' within Mors Et Timor and its sequel, Timor Et Mors, and so to better understand this chapter I ask that you all read the short (five chapters) bit of 'backstory' I wrote. While it's not the REAL backstory of Dr. Crane, it's the one I'll be using for this story and the following ones.**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 18<strong>

My preparations were almost complete. It was almost time to introduce Revis into a world she would not soon forget but first I would have to lay down a few basic rules.

I placed my glasses upon the desk to rub tiredly at my eyes. I didn't get enough sleep, as usual, but it would all pay off in the end...

I stifled my smile as best as possible before I was overcome by an excited joy which knew no restraint. In fact, my joy only grew at the sight of Revis meekly shuffling into the room, head downcast with her gold brown hair falling into her face.

She sat at her usual chair but made no movement to speak or look up. In some act of inner turmoil, she twisted the inner fabric of her white, longsleeved undershirt that rested against her wrist.

So timid, so weak...I found it all disgustingly endearing. I savored each act of submission but some part of me yearned to test my wits against the cold mortician I met so many months ago.

For once, I decided to let the initial conversation fall under her incentive since I was content enough to drink in her docile behavior and I knew she would soon crack under the pressure. While she has made a greater effort at taking back her controlled mind, the recent trauma would keep her useless with no more significance than an animal.

Why were all the minds around me so weak? I didn't succumb to my traumatic childhood; I grew stronger...I held purpose.

I resisted the urge to sigh.

So many neglected to see my full potential. In some ways the delicious terror and pleading would pale as they never realized the building threat but for my purposes their fear would suffice.

The silence pressed heavily on the room and I found myself irritated as ten quiet minutes passed by.

Well, it seems I'll have to begin the session anyway.

"I trust you've recovered from last week, Revis?"

She flinched then nodded slowly, still refusing to lift her head.

"Good," she looked up in suspicion, "Now that you hold an attention span longer than a goldfish, I would like to discuss your behavior this past month."

She said nothing but continued to eye me warily.

"I have already made the appropriate phone calls—" her face paled and she shook her head but before she could respond I continued while smirking, "—and if your behavior does not improve by our next session, you'll begin insulin shock therapy."

She slowly lowered her widened eyes and I noticed a growing collection of tear stains on the sleeves of her suit however she gave no other outward sign of grief.

I cleared my throat causing her to look up although tears still fell from her bloodshot eyes, "In fact, I find a small dose of insulin to jump start the procedure to alleviate any _irrational_ fears the patient may have before treatment. Of course, protective measures have already been taken but one can never be too sure how you'll react with the drug not only biologically but psychologically."

I raised my still bandaged hand which I had kept below the desk until now to reveal a syringe.

She shook her head again and said in a choked voice, "H-How am I s-supposed to improve if I don't get a chance?"

I raised my eyebrows while I leaned forward over my desk mockingly, "Why Revis, you've already had a chance. I believe the initial warning and then my second warning as you attempted to avoid seeing me were enough."

She began to shake and I saw her eyes dart back and forth on the carpet as she struggled to comprehend what was about to occur.

Ah, the overwhelming dread and fear of the unknown...Little did she know, I held a strong dose of my fear toxin instead of insulin but I found the fear she was emitting charming in the strongest sense.

It was a small shame I hadn't found a chemical formula that would last longer than ten minutes but the new compound I created would affect the cognitive area of her brain to mix the hallucinations and memories into a surreal nightmare.

The only downside to my experiments was the lack of understanding between the test subject and their personal fears. It was well enough to say one feared bats but that was entirely different from the actual hallucination the subject would see.

Oh well.

I stood and slowly walked around my desk to near her.

Surprisingly enough, instead of waiting and cowering she shot out toward my desk. Before she was able to reach the call button or something to use as a weapon I wrapped my left arm around her outstretched arms to hold them tightly against her body as my other arm came around to hold her still as I tried to inject the toxin into her system.

Ghn—

I shook my head to clear it as I realized she must have whipped back her head in an attempt to escape. I exhaled heavily.

Now I was annoyed. When I got my hands on her—What was she doing?!

While I was distracted, she had pulled open my drawers to search for something and now she held the letter opener I kept in my desk.

Damn, when did she see me use that?

Without any hesitation, she brought the knife to her throat as I jumped toward her once more, uncaring of the syringe in my hand.

What exactly happened I wasn't sure but I knew she was alive seeing as she was sobbing beneath me.

"P-Please, I want to die," her voice cracked as she cried, "I have not-nothing left..."

I noted the knife had fallen many feet away so I found it safe to shift my weight so I wasn't pressed—

Ouch, what was that stinging—

Oh no...

I looked down in disbelief as I saw my syringe sticking out from my leg with the contents already injected into my system.

No, this wasn't good. I needed the antidote!

The room began to waver but I fought against it as I tried to calm my heart rate knowing any anger, panic, or struggle would only worsen the effects.

Damn, where did I keep the antidote—

Ugh, if only I could see past the twisting cornstalks—

No, not the cornstalks...

I was panting as the heat trapped within the whispering stalks pressed me further into the dusty ground.

"Jonathan!"

I froze as I heard my grandmothers raspy voice...

No, this wasn't right, I killed her. She was dead in the aviary—

"Jonathan!"

I looked fearfully through dusty glasses as the tall cornstalks began to crack and rustle as someone made their way toward me. Shaking my head, I immediately ducked into the cornfield trying to escape her.

Ghost or not, I would never face that damned woman again.

My chest constricted painfully as I was overwhelmed by the sounds of the cornstalks breaking under my feet and my own breathing echoing loudly in my ear. I felt sweat roll down my neck but didn't pause to wipe it. I needed to find a way out. I needed to—

Ah!

I roughly tripped over my own feet and landed in a small clearing. I flinched as cawing crows flew over me, skimming my hair and hands as I curled into myself. I was shaking against the touch—Oh, how I hated those crows. Yet they continued to speak loudly in crass voices that left chills down my spine...

Warily I looked up to find—Madeline?!

N-No, this wasn't right. Madeline died, Bo killed—

"Jonathan..." she said tightly and it was then I noticed the crows had began to wear away at her skin and the dress she wore the night she died as she hung limply against the post a scarecrow once used.

Tears tightened in my throat as I moved forward hoping to get those nasty birds away from her when I found a gun in my hand.

I frowned with tears falling down my dirty cheeks at the cold metal that grew warm in my sweaty palm.

"J-Jonathan," she coughed dryly which drew my attention back to her, "Why did you kill me? Jonath—"

"NO!" I screamed and raised the gun to pull the trigger—

Wait, what? No, I didn't want to kill—Oh no, what have I done?!

I dropped to my knees and sobbed until I noticed the noise had stopped. Worn out but curious I lifted my head to—

I flew back as a crow's open beak enveloped my face. I struggled against their touch as hundreds of crows descended on me: biting, crying out loudly in my ear, scratching against my hands, drowning me in dark feathers and beady eyes—

"Dr. Crane!"

I blinked uneasily as a dark figure, damn was that another cro—

Oh, it was Revis...

I swallowed and shuffled up only to find myself pressed against the couch in front of my desk.

What happened? The toxin—

"Dr. Crane, are you alright?" Revis asked as she kneeled over me and gently brushed hair out of my eyes.

She tenderly wiped away a tear from my eye and placed a comforting hand against my shoulder. I felt her thumb move in small circles as she spoke, "Dr. Crane, it's alright the crows are gone...You don't have to run or hide any—"

I pushed her away as I stood and glared at her heatedly while I panted.

How dare she act like I was weaker than her! I...It was _her_ fault. She needed to leave.

"Get out..." I said in a low, dark voice.

She paused and looked at me with scared eyes but shook her head and tried to near me, "Dr. Crane—"

"NO! Get out!" I yelled and she flinched harshly while sucking in a deep breath.

I closed my eyes and clenched my fists by my side as tried to control my fury—

What?

I opened my eyes surprised to find Revis _hugging _me.

Why was she still here? I told her to leave and she—

"You don't have to hide anymore..." She murmured as she held me in a loose but solid grip with her head leaning against my chest.

What in the world?

I exhaled in shock and swallowed but before I could find the strength to push her away or curse at her, I found myself pulling her closer. I tightening my grip on her to what must have been a painful degree but she didn't complain.

What was _I_ doing?! She was a loon, I was a psychiatrist, this was wrong—

Yet it was also...warm, nice...This was safe.

I took deep breathes as I simply held onto her unable to do much else.

In less than two minutes, I had calmed myself down and come to my senses. Stiffly, I broke away to stare coldly into her uncertain eyes, "That will be all for today."

At first, she was frozen in place before she scurried out of the room where guards would be waiting. I mentally thanked her for leaving quickly so I was saved the trip to the call button.

When I was sure she was gone, I collapsed against the couch feeling completely exhausted. I pressed my hand against my eyes yet the ringing echo of those crows in my ears remained.

Well I knew the toxin was a success but that wasn't relevant at the moment. I needed to collect my thoughts...There was something she said, something important.

Damn, I couldn't think over the echo of those blasted crow—The crows.

She knew about the crows...but how? I might have mentioned it as I—

I ground my teeth as I thought of my weakness and in front of _her_ no less.

Why had I not pushed her away sooner? Or better yet why did she comfort me?

Not that I needed it. I would have recovered just the same had she not intervened.

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose, but she _had_ intervened...I just needed to know why.

General concern for humanity was a plausible explanation although I had no prior evidence to support the idea. Other than her victims to which she showed fury and took a sadistic pleasure from their pain, she viewed everyone else with indifference.

Well everyone else, aside from me.

Due to my ability to reduce her to panic with a few words or small actions she feared me...and yet she also _helped_ me. What did she have to gain from that? Did she believe I would overlook her disobedience or that I had somehow opened up?

She was gravely mistaken...

I just needed to rest, it was too early to leave and I had more paperwork to shuffle through just as I'm sure there was yet another board meeting in an hour and a half. I ran my hands through my hair as I hung my head in exhaustion.

There was so much to do. I was always pressed for time as the idea of a night's sleep itself became a distant dream. I needed to attend the meeting and if I must I would take home some paperwork to finish over breakfast—

Oh, I briefly forgot I didn't have time for breakfast anymore.

Come to think of it when was the last time I had eaten?

My stomach growled painfully as if to remind me of my neglectful behavior prompting me to check my watch tiredly.

Well 4:21 wasn't _too_ late for a late lunch or an early dinner.

Shaking my head against my drooping eyes, I yawned and promised myself a large coffee at wherever I was going.

Checking that my keys and glasses were on, I made my way out of my office and ignored the squirrelly intern that stumbled over her words as she apologized for almost running into me. Too tired to flash a smile, I nodded and made my way through the dark halls of Arkham.

Sometimes I believed this building was too large and dank to ever escape but thankfully I was able to leave long enough to keep my sanity.

I blinked up at the roaring, clouded sky as I cursed under my breath for neglecting to bring an umbrella.

In a fowl yet fatigued mood I made my way through the rain to my car, already missing the warm embrace from—

No, I was tired that was all; the heater would suffice.

Yet when I turned on my ignition and pulled away from Arkham after flashing ID at the gate, I found myself chilled to the bone.

...

This was a disgrace.

Here I was at the incarnation of humanity's greed and gluttony: McDonald's. I cursed the pressing time which forced me to unwrap one of my two Mc-chicken wraps that I ordered with a Mc-cafe large coffee and a Mc-cola. As if the food wasn't unsavory enough, the greasy smiles and falsely cheery attitude of the cashier had me irked but it was both warm and dry inside compared to the rest of rainy Gotham. Also to my relief, I found an umbrella within my car but that hardly lifted my mood.

Grimacing, I took another sip of my cold drink to try and wash the taste of cheap labor and desperation. The taste of oppression and pain hardly brought out the taste but let it sit sourly on my tongue.

I knew the means companies like Coca-Cola and Pepsi took to make their products. After all, what use was it to use our own country's water when taking small Indonesian villages' _only_ water supply to support a capitalist industry was so much easier. Of course, they then gave back 'free fertilizer' that was laced with toxic quantities of lead and other minerals which made the land infertile and the people sick.

I also knew the less than savory means McDonald's used to secure their produce, meat, and the sickening way they added onto the unhealthy food by feeding sugar into everything. America has fallen from grace with two golden arches of brainwashing, capitalist commercialism leading the way.

Yet I, like most Americans, was a hypocrite.

I was pressed for time, low on money, and not actually caring what I ate as long as my stomach would last until later tonight. And so, I grudgingly ate the food I purchased trying to not actually taste or think about what I was placing within my body.

Finally, I was finished with the dry, sickly food and would be able to take my now drinkable super-heated coffee and drive back to Arkham where I would suffer for about three more hours before returning home.

I disposed of my trash and tried not to feel the sickly taste of cheap sauce that still clung to my taste buds.

Never again would I eat here.

Subway would better suit my tastes; however, this was a capitalist country with only profits in mind and while 'healthy' was becoming a fashion trend, fattening, chemically degraded (I mean _enhanced_) food was still a priority for sales marketing to the modern American which meant more McDonalds on every other street in comparison to the odd deli.

I shook my head to rid myself of my spiteful musings as I opened my umbrella and stepped outside into the rain while taking a sip of my coffee before fighting to swallow it.

Ugh, I should have just gone to Starbucks and ordered some sweet bread and _edible _coffee instead of this bland, too hot perversion of caffeinated beverages.

Resisting the urge to toss it in the gutter, I convinced myself that I was already pressed for time and somewhere in the burnt, watery concoction lied some caffeine and I desperately _needed_ caffeine. After a short struggle with the umbrella, car door, and coffee I took one more large sip (wincing and choking slightly) before giving into temptation and letting the tasteless drink fall to the road as I safely made it inside only to notice I had spilled coffee on the bottom on my suit...

Lovely, just another reminder of the loathsome—

I took a deep breath and gripped the steering wheel.

Now was not the time.

I needed to make it to the board meeting, take home paperwork, _sleep_, then wake up at some odd hour in the morning and either grab actual coffee or make some semblance of a meal before continuing my work at the library.

'Thank God it's Friday'

Ha, not only was it a ridiculous statement which only triggered more anger at the mention of a lying—

No, now was not the time.

I started pulling out of the McDonald's parking lot before I slammed on the brakes and cursed a speeding driver who almost ran me off the road.

Just three more hours, three more hours and I'll be able to leave this 'working world' to go to my quiet house with a warm bed and soothing solitude. After twenty minutes of traffic, most of which was spent listening to various radio stations and a small wait at the gate of Arkham, I had myself convinced I would last.

Wth new confidence and a sort of hate fueled awareness, I made my way to the board meeting after noting how close I was to being late.

I entered the room with only three minutes to spare and gave a tight nod to Mrs. Carol who gave me an impatient look before turning to another staff member no doubt to gossip...

I held in a sigh as I took my seat and waited patiently while I tried to focus on those around me.

Considering the newest developments at Arkham it would be best to note the social ladder in Arkham should the investigation lead to an array of discharges.

Yet I was only halfway through categorizing in what order would the staff of Arkham face dismissal when the room was silenced and some unfamiliar government official stood holding a clipboard as he smiled tightly.

"Thank you all for coming. Now for today's board meeting we'll be discussing the ongoing investigation at Arkham—"

I barely stifled a groan.

I was going to need more caffeine.

"As you all know, this investigation has been in place for several months now but despite reassurances with the investigators and the evidence to deny the counts of mistreatment, brutality, poisoning, misdiagnosis, and other atrocities, efforts are being made to further the investigation. Similarly enough, all court cases concerning Arkham patients yet to be sentenced will be postponed until the investigation itself is concluded."

Well, it seems there will be no reason to waste even more time with the bothersome woman in order to prepare for Revis' trial yet the uproar over Joker's frequent breach of security would not disperse the media's desire to see the possible madman sentenced.

An older staff member, Dr. Shaw, spoke up in a raspy voice choked by years of tobacco, "What is left to investigate, Mr. Varner? They've been through our archives, seen recorded sessions, tested our food and medicine, evaluated some of the patients themselves. We've all been under close watch and aside from a small breach in security earlier this month and nothing has been amiss—except for that deranged clown!"

A murmur of agreeing voices steadily rose until a perky intern who had almost reached the end of her internship spoke out in a squeaky tone, "Yeah, I've been in Arkham for ten months and I can say nothing's wrong with the asylum except the lacking funds and support from the state."

"She's right. When are we going to get some budget raises? Our equipment is wearing out and we have more inmates than ever! Psychotherapy isn't cheap!" some man with a red face bellowed even though the noise was at a manageable level.

"Now, now everyone, the state is looking into the matter—" Mr. Varner, the salt and peppered government official patronized before he was cut off.

"That's what they said three years ago and look what has happened—Nothing. That's what!"

"Crime rates are higher than ever and with Batman untimely disappearance—"

Mrs. Carol spoke up shrilly, "What does that deranged vigilante turned _murderer _have to do with Arkham? If anything _he _deserves a room in here."

"What room? Our security is stretched far enough. Arkham's coming to a ruin I tell ya'," the ever eloquent Mr. Cedar, head of security, said while chewing on gum with his yellowed teeth.

"Everyone please control yourselves!" Mr. Varner commanded before taking a deep breath looking at his clipboard before turning to me with a tired yet pressing look, "Dr. Crane, your impromptu patient, known as Revis, was a part of the investigation before her admittance to Arkham, correct?"

I cleared my throat in order to give an appropriate response, "There was a complication with the investigation. While my patient was collecting data and helping those in the field she, herself, was not qualified to legally testify. Her word in court would prove to be an invalid source of information."

Mr. Varner blinked in surprise, "Her work was supervised by others who were—"

I smiled tightly, "That's where the complication lies. Those who supervised her were themselves, uncertified. In the eyes of the state, she is merely a former practitioner at Gotham's Funeral Parlor who is now committed criminal at Arkham."

He clicked his tongue but Mr. Cedar spoke up before he could reply.

"Told ya' the chit was no good. She's been a handful for the guards and everyone 'ere! She's got no respect or—"

"Mr. Cedar," Mr. Varner said sharply, "It is that particular patient which draws the state's attention. You can imagine how those involved with the investigation would find it suspicious for a former investigator, uncertified or not, to fall under the care of the very asylum and _doctor_ she was investigating. To all who knew her, she was a quiet but well-mannered woman."

I frowned slightly, "Mr. Varner, my patient's case is not private material. If you wish to see the diagnosis or progress made during our sessions you are welcome—"

"That won't be necessary, Dr. Crane. I've read the file and so have the investigators but they find the information unsatisfactory. They want a testimony from her."

I blinked, this was _not _part of the plan.

"My patient is a dangerous criminal with unstable mood changes and violent tendencies. A safe conversation, let alone testimony, is out of the question."

Mr. Varner eyed me smugly from his dark grey gaze, "Despite all your credentials you're not admitting to any incompetence to such a _high profile _case, are you Dr. Crane?"

I clenched my jaw trying to ignore the blonde doctor's poorly disguised smile but Dr. Shaw spoke up, "Mr. Varner with all due respect, Dr. Crane has provided valuable efforts to this asylum and those who suffer from mental illnesses. His _credentials_ are not in question but I daresay your authority is."

I turned my head slightly to look at Dr. Shaw, trying my best to hide my shock.

He spoke out in my favor. What motives did this man have?

He must have seen the questioning look for he winked at me before directing his attention to Mr. Varner who loosened his tie while Dr. Shaw spoke, "This asylum has been through many reconstructions, scandals, and disasters but still we stand as a symbol of both justice and humanity as we rehabilitate criminals until they are able to move on to Blackgate Penitentiary. The staff here at Arkham will not tolerate any slander on our faculty or facility by _anyone_."

Mr. Varner swallowed nervously as the atmosphere in the room grew tense, "Dr. Crane was under investigation by Ms. Revis—"

Mr. Cedar spoke up, "Eh, not true, Varner. Crane was only brought in this mess by that chit cause he supplied the dead cra—" he stopped at sharp look from a stiff Mrs. Carol before resuming, "—inmate wit medicine but nuthin' else. Dr. Oswald, Barker, and Mr. Zoller all have what it takes to do that job but just by chance, this poor bloke gets his name dragged through dirt. It ain't right."

Once more I was appalled by the sudden outburst of support. While I was more than capable of defending myself I found these _confessions_ to be rather amusing.

"Mr. Varner, I have cooperated with the investigation and supplied every piece of information which has been requested yet in the state court any testimony from those with a chronic mental condition such as my patient possesses is deemed invalid. I will gladly extend my assistance to anyone within the investigation if it is needed; however, I will also file a complaint to the state _and _if the situation permits, a charge of harassment and slander."

The table broke out in applause Mr. Varner seemed to grow redder by the second before he angrily spoke to me while slamming his clipboard to the desk, "You pretentious little—"

"Varner, watch yerself you're about to warrant an arrest for assault," Mr. Cedar drawled out cockily.

He steamed before clutching his clipboard tightly to his chest as he stormed out of the room calling over his shoulder, "Mark my words, the investigation _will_ continue!"

When he was out of earshot the table broke off into different tangents as many prepared to leave yet some paused to chat.

I sighed and capped the spare pen I had been toying with the entire time before I rose. Nevermind this nonsense, I had more important matters to address such as my lack of sleep.

I straightened out my suit, once more noticing the stain, when Mrs. Carol and Dr. Shaw approached me.

"Wonderfully put, Dr. Crane!" Mrs. Carol said as she clasped her wrinkled hands to her bosom. She had a lipstick stain on her dentures and it was most distracting...

"She's right," Dr. Shaw broke off to cough up a bit of phlegm which he tucked into a handkerchief. Who carried handkerchiefs these days? "You held a strong position and defended it well."

I smiled politely, "Thank you but," I cleared my throat slightly so the lies would come easier, "I wouldn't have brought out such a strong argument without your assistance."

Dr. Shaw shook his head causing his curled, white beard (with spittle shining in the light) to shake, "No m'boy, you're not getting off by being modest. Come now, wouldn't you like to leave to dinner? I was about to treat the staff to something nice to celebrate."

His eyes twinkled toward the end but I found myself bored with the conversation already.

I tilted my head slightly, "A celebration?"

Mrs. Carol who was unable to stay out of the limelight for long cut in, "Oh yes Jonathan," my eyebrow twitched at the mention of my first name. The lack of respect was only the salt in the wound created by her illogical presumptions I held any amicable feelings toward her, "After all, the investigation's coming to an end! All that talk up there was a last minute attempt to dig up some dirt but they won't win the case!"

I gave them both a regretful look, "While I apologize for acting the recluse, recently there are quite a few files I must look over about some complications with a patient's medication."

Dr. Shaw looked crestfallen but cleared his throat as he replied in his gruff voice, "That's the honorable thing to, Dr. Crane," he broke off to laugh and playfully elbow Mrs. Carol who glared at him as he jostled her shawl, "I admire you, Dr. Crane. These old bones can't take the strain of working late—isn't that right Mrs. Carol? We're not as young as we used to be."

Mrs. Carol seemed to hold herself higher like a bird who's feathers had been ruffled, "Why Dr. Shaw, I am at a perfectly suitable age—"

"Now Mrs. Carol, you know it's true," at this he reached out and grabbed my shoulder firmly as I fought to not show my revulsion, "Men like Dr. Crane hold the future in their hands," he looked me deep in the eyes as if he was searching for something to validate his words, "Isn't that right, Dr. Crane?"

I met his gaze calmly, "I am but one man, Dr. Shaw, and the future holds promise for many. I hope your night is pleasant...Mrs. Carol, Dr. Shaw."

After paying my respected parting I left to my office, ready to end this day. Nevermind the report I was supposed to file or the paperwork, I would see to that in the morning but right now I only wanted to be free of the metal hell known as Arkham and sleep deeply in my own bed.

Tomorrow would be a bright future with a chance to further my research at the library but for the moment I was content to sleepily drive to my house where I carefully parked in my garage and locked up my house as I made my way to my bedroom, more fatigued than hungry.

Not bothering to do more than shuffle out of my pants, jacket, and sweatervest I dropped on the bed sighing in part relief part pain as my stiff muscles relaxed. Halfheartedly, I tugged off my socks and loosened my tie before slinging that over the edge of my bed. I briefly struggled with the buttons of my shirt until I felt I wouldn't choke in my sleep.

Still awake enough to remember to take off my glasses, I set them aside on the bedside table as I blearily blinked at the clock not able to comprehend the numbers.

Oh well, I would rise sometime tomorrow and then I would worry about my toxin, my patient, the staff of Arkham, and the investigation.

Only taking the effort to maneuver under the covers, I ran a hand through my hair and then stretched out as I drifted into a deep slumber.


	21. Chapter 19: Coffee and Cameras

**Ello! Minion here! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and read my humble yet demented story! It's a true pleasure to recieve such helpful feedback!**

**Normally I wouldn't be posting so early but due to a cosplay party tomorrow (in which I will be cosplaying as Dr. Crane and my wonderful Megamind will be cosplaying as Harley, giant hammer and all) I will be unable to post and so here's an early update. **

**Also I do not own Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 19<strong>

_"Vanity: it's so good to be_

_ Fabulous and glamorous,_

_ We love ourselves and no one else!"_

I pushed my glasses further up on my nose as I disdainfully glared at the woman who owned the cell phone with that ridiculous ringtone. She immediately answered her phone then continued to interrupt the usual quiet hum of the library by talking at a painfully loud level.

Ah, the joy's of a public library.

Gotham University was moderately improved but still retained foolish, cocky undergrads and air headed slags. Then again, Gotham University was out of the question. After all, I was _fired_ there for my methods of teaching. Oh well, the board learned their lesson and I had greater things to move onto.

However, my search for the ultimate fear toxin became futile. Even after a complex search for the chemical formula for fear, so to speak, I was struggling to find anything concrete. I've studied the quadrants of the brain which are chemically active while one experiences fear just as I've read seemingly all theories, equations, and essays over the emotion itself, psychological effects, and biological strains over the human body but I failed to find what I was searching for or even a stable lead.

I've even looked into hallucinogens and the different plants, drugs, or fungi which might give off a fearful experience but other than the usual unspecified delirium preceding death or 'strange environment' which would induce a 'bad trip' I came up empty handed. If only there was something I could synthesize and create a toxin around such as scientists did when the pain relieving properties of the aspen tree were discovered and made into the over the counter drug known as Aspirin.

It took years of research to come as far as I have and even then my work has been exceedingly unstable. While I possessed a controlled environment and chemical supplies I lacked a direct lead or solid data. After all, dragging the insane into a delusional nightmare wasn't too hard. What if a normal—Well no, I've proved that wrong.

My last batch of fear toxin was...well vivid and everything I had hoped except for a few minor details which I was thankful I had flawed in. For example, if my toxin were too last longer I might have been discovered by someone else and a series of events would follow and ultimately ruin me just as if my toxin had been either fatal or permanent, I would be unable to carry out my revenge. Come to think of it, my incident brought a valid point to mind.

I was unable to reach the antidote in time and even in the future I would never have the assured time to reach an antidote before I was overwhelmed by my toxin (although, I doubted that would happen again). Even so, it was best to be prepared and build an immunity. Yet that itself was perhaps more complex and dangerous than concentrating a poison in the first place.

Either I would use my successful toxins as a source to rearrange, so to speak, and make a sort of 'anti venom' from my poison. Yet if my toxins grew in potency my efforts would be moot. Also I didn't want to eliminate my natural defense, there was no use in parading around without any _logical_ fear or suspicion.

I ran a hand through my hair and once more looked over the notes I kept in a spiral. So far I was getting more and more accurate in my attempts to create to the ultimate fear toxin.

Yet there was room for expansion.

While most my toxins were serums or gasses, I wished to bring my poisons to a new level such as tablets, perhaps dissolving ones as well as procure a wide range of weapons. It wouldn't do to unhinge the mind of every victim but rather I wanted to see the slow decent into madness as the test subject doubted reality and soon enough themselves.

My psychological training assisted my work greatly as well as my years as I spent teaching psychology, particularly phobias, to undeserving students. What some thought was an interesting means to pass time and earn credits, I saw as my life's work.

No one appreciated the true effect of fear on the individual mind let alone whole masses. During my short but fulfilling teaching career, I relied more on mind games, the structure of the human mind, as well as personal knowledge of my students from weeks of observations to further indulge my talents but as my career changed to a counselor then to a psychiatrist I found the marvel in medicine.

My previous patients as a counselor were interesting cases I enjoyed battling wits to yet I noticed all grew submissive and boring after awhile. Once I learned the true, powerful, aspects behind modern science, I fell in love with knowledge again.

Yes it was science, science of the mind, which lead me to my power in the beginning but I was continuously progressing into the modern field of psychology.

The wide range of possibilities my new position presented were almost cloying in a seductive appeal. Not only was I able to meet and challenge interesting cases briefly but I held the power to silence their wits and dull their emotions to a numbed, submissive state which I grew to love. The sheer power over their minds, the fear they felt in between medicine (that was if they were lucid enough to understand their situation correctly) was intoxicating.

Of course, I was cautious and diligent in my work for I didn't want to work on a fascade. I wanted to reach my height of power by learning to _correctly_ prescribe and treat different breeds of insanity _then _progress into a higher state of knowledge.

I was also discrete in my professional life whereas my personal life was nonexistent. I made sure I was presentable to the highest degree. Each day I preplanned my outfit with every possible consideration taken in mind. My manners were impeccable and nearly every scenario was preplanned with a readily available responses.

After all, to the certain psychopathic mind the smallest feature misplaced or stuttering reply would signal either weakness or a dangerous shift in power. Never again would I be seen as weak from my clothing, or inferior due to my speech.

All these factors combined built a stable foundation within the staff. My reputation was secured as able and efficient yet ambitious. The reason for letting that slight narcissistic quality to emerge was to show my superiors I was not content to slave away at a desk for forty years. I had plans for the future and as all young, finely established, charismatic men knew such promise held a sure ascension into higher power.

Once I was climbing the social ladder in Arkham, I kept myself distanced but seemingly in touch with those around me. I was in an awkward position where any secluded behavior would break my image yet any outspoken actions would send me straight to the meager job I held before.

There was much polite grovelling and grueling under the heavy fist of social fascades. Many times I found myself stretched to a breaking point, torn apart by the imposed expectations and seemingly neverending criticisms but nevertheless I surpassed all obstacles and now held the position as head psychiatrist.

And now that painfully earned position was threatened...

After all, my achievements from my poorly lived highschool life, bullied college experience, ridiculed position as professor, and down trodden post as counselor I was _not_ about to allow some pesky investigation to compromise _my_ well earned title. I kept most my patients on a safe path to recovery just as I furthered psychology's reach into the area of fear.

I may even write a book after I extract my revenge and perhaps revealed my true purpose to others...or maybe not. It seemed that after all these years of struggling just to get by, I found my inner desire and professional fascade to almost act as two separate people. While I detested the boring, tiresome, social obligations my work entitled, it was through those mindless functions and tedious staff meetings that I was able to make my theorized work a reality.

If I were to expose myself, all my efforts would be ridiculed once more. I may even fall in the unworthy, _incompetent _hands of 'Gotham's Finest'.

No, for now it was best I keep my head low and continue as I have for years. One day I would extract my revenge but now I needed to further my reach into the biological understanding of fear as well as find a safe way to grow an immunity to my own toxins.

_"The future is bulletproof,_

_ The aftermath is secondary._

_ It's time to do it now and do it loud._

_ Killjoy's make some noise!"_

I exhaled tiredly as yet _another _cellphone went off but the sight of a barely living, overly caffeinated college student who frantically struggled to find his phone in a large backpack failed to amuse me. The heavy beat continued before what must have been the most annoying song in existence continued.

_"Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na_

_ Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na_

_ Na Na Na Na NA Na Na Na Na Na_

_ Na Na Na Na Na—"_

Thankfully, he shut off the offending music but several people nearby gave him dirty looks; I was among them.

Closing the useless book I had already poured over five times before, I stood and placed what notes I made today in my laptop carrier then returned the book and three others to their proper place. Obviously, I would find no peace here and I had more pressing matters to attend to then being forced to listen to obnoxious music in a supposedly _quiet _library.

Then again, the thought of my empty home, devoid of life and personality aside from the overflow of books, seemed equally tasteless. To be blunt, I was repulsed by my situation.

Any other day I would be in the library, annoying public aside, and research for hours, content to feel the pages of books and watch as the dark ink stained my spiral with graceful writing, but this was not such a day.

My mind was distracted by thoughts of a certain inmate I had no purpose thinking of on my day off. While I usually worked weekends, I took each day off as a special pleasure _not _time to consider the mentality of a deranged mortician.

Placing my hands in my pockets, I walked with a slightly annoyed expression to the nearby Starbucks.

Perhaps some coffee, bread, and internet would take my mind off her odd actions. No matter that nothing about her _ever _made sense.

First, her offensive maneuver as she leaped toward my desk, something she _never_ did before, then the odd action of finding my letter opener and trying to slit her throat. I was certain I never used such a provocative utensil in front of her. I made sure I would not aggravate or intrigue her morbid fascinations in general but her interest in blades especially.

"Sir, I can help you now?"

I looked up and flashed an easy smile, "Sorry about that, I'll have your largest size of Hazelnut coffee, sweetened with a..." I quickly scanned the breads, "slice of cinnamon bread."

The cashier finished my transaction then repeated my order to others who scurried around in order to make my coffee and the three others which were already in line and now ordering.

I moved aside and scanned the seating placements thankfully spotting a secluded corner near a power socket. When my order was up I took the hot drink and small bag and made my way to the table. After I sat down, I placed my laptop carrier in between my feet as I leisurely ate the sweet bread while occasionally sipping the delicious, _suitable _coffee.

Once more her behavior mystified me.

She should hold no importance to me except with her resilience to my toxins (imperfect toxins, that is) yet I found myself unable to leave the odd encounter on our last session alone.

I sipped the delightfully warm drink once more as I thought over her motives to commit suicide.

Other than the self inflicted wounds, she showed no signs of destructive behavior and seemed anxious and paranoid but otherwise stable. Something must have startled her. The threat of treatments weren't enough even with her _hidden _affliction_, _there must be some other factor to set her off.

As if her suicide attempt wasn't odd enough, it was her reaction to my accidental poisoning that had me stumped.

I took a few bites of the bread before continuing to drink the rich coffee.

She _hugged _me.

After all I've done, her initial reaction of flinching and cowering was surpassed by some misplaced bout of compassion. Yet Revis showed no compassion toward others except the dead; she felt only indifference or aggression toward people. Well, that's all she was _able _to feel in her reduced state but there was little chance of that improving anytime soon...Unless, I lured her into a false sense of security.

Her antics before then—I swallowed the last of the bread although my throat tightened with the humiliation I suffered as she _pitied_ me...

Drinking more coffee and ignoring the sadly lighter cup, I continued.

While I would have enjoyed torturing her, I suppose my plan would better work if I lulled her into a sense of ease. Betrayal and confusion were wonderful tools to fracture a psyche. Her already unstable behavior, the haunting reunion with a past stalker, the pressing threats of horrible medical treatments, even the dreary interior of Arkham (nevermind those inside) all wore on her but if I gave her an escape, a chance to _hope, _why the outcome of my plan would only be sweeter.

I drank deeply once more and contemplated ordering another but thought better of it. Instead, I placed the near empty container on the table while I drew out my laptop, charger, and headphones as I set up the equipment. Within the next five minutes, I was online and viewing surveillance tapes with only one ear piece in place.

Something must have happened the time I last saw Revis to advocate such a strong change in behavior...but what? I wasn't notified of any oddities between the nutter and my patient but then again Arkham's staff was rendered useless in even the lightest of tasks.

Even so, I had no time to pour over the many hours of surveillance but with a quick scan of the past week I might be able to find something. I skimmed through the different watches, watching as the hour stretched on until I paused from my work to order another coffee. Under more caffeine, I clicked on the next day, already predicting the usual silence and occasional passing orderly in between the guards posted at Revis' door but I was unprepared for what awaited me.

The guards nodded to each other then left their post.

What was this? There were no security breaches or breaks within their shift. I gave them precise orders...

I turned up the volume as I heard a slight scuffle.

"Nicole..."

I furrowed my brows and drank once more as I listened closely to the quiet voice.

"Nicole..."

There was a muffled noise and with a few clicks of my mouse I viewed Revis as she was huddled into herself in a corner with her head in her arms. She seemed to be hiding but the nutter just across the hall continued.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out? You're mine, darling...Nicole..."

I frowned at the way he made her flinch and shake as she remained curled into herself.

The guards returned in less than a minute and the communications stopped.

That was odd. The rest of the video was silent...Something was off about this.

I sorted through a few more videos noticing sometimes a guard would socialize with Revis and laugh jovially or twist his mouth in a sympathetic grimace.

Revis, however, seemed numb, just staring out into space and occasionally speaking softly to the guard.

On the other hand, the nutter remained silent during these interactions but on a closer look he was seething quietly.

Two videos later and the guards left, this time as soon as their previous partners switched off.

Once more, the nutter spoke in a chilling voice, "Nicole..."

Revis closed her eyes but gave no outward sign she had heard him.

"Dammit, I know you can hear me...I'll be there soon enough. Nothing, not even that doctor, can keep me away."

I glared slightly into the screen.

Did he think so?

"I'll kill him with that letter opener he keeps in his desk...just for you. How's that sound, Nicole?"

She tried to appear impassive but I saw the signs of panic begin to take control. Meanwhile, I berated myself for opening a letter in front of him as reports from the labs came back with his allegories and medical record.

"Would you like to watch as I stab him to death?"

She clenched her jaw.

"Nicole..." he said again in a mocking voice.

She swallowed roughly.

"Or maybe you'll kill him for me...You love me don't you? You wouldn't leave me again..." he laughed, "You don't have to answer, I know the truth. You're just hiding because you're afraid to hurt me aren't you."

The nutter frowned as tears began to gather, "You hurt me so badly...I cried every night and every night I had dreams of you—" his voice cracked, "Some dreams were nice but others made me cry in my sleep. But you didn't want to hurt me, did you?"

Revis had her eyes closed and struggled to calm herself but he continued.

"You're a liar...a hypocrite. You only hurt those you love, it's your fault I'm here. It's your mistake for leaving me when you needed me. I needed you too but you didn't care. Didn't you know I was there for you, through all of it I was there waiting for you...Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

Her face crumpled as she was holding onto her silence by a thread.

"I love you, Nicole...Don't you love me?"

The guards returned and once more there was silence.

I drank my cooling coffee but found my appetite had left.

Something was wrong with this.

I looked through the next surveillance tape, thinking it would be uneventful when I saw the guards leaving halfway through the tape.

"Nicole..."

Revis was in the corner again so I was unable to see her face as she hid.

"I talked with the doctor today...He said some hurtful things about you. I told him he was wrong but he insisted that you were using me. I told him you loved me but he said you were lying, you only wanted to hurt me. He told me you manipulated me with that fantasy of yours. He said I was in over my head but I argued...After all, you love me and I know you wouldn't do that. Right, Nicole?"

She tightly gripped the fabric of her sleeves but didn't speak.

How dare he use such lowly tactics on her. I never spoke with him nor would I give such biased information to—

"I'm almost ready to kill him. I'm waiting for the third of the month, you know, our anniversary. I want that to be a special day for just you and me. Maybe I'll kill that guard too, I don't like it when you ignore me. Are you _trying_ to get me jealous?"

The nutter walked up to the cell door where he peered at her, "Nicole, please look at me."

She burrowed her head into her arms further but he gave her a hard look, "Look at me and tell me you don't love me. Tell me you want that doctor, that guard, more than you want me."

When she didn't respond he smiled warmly, "See, we're made for each other. I love you, darling...Nothing will keep us apart, not even you."

The guards returned and I went through three more videos, noting how there was only silence except for that social guard although Revis seemed more withdrawn. Yet soon enough the talkative guard was gone and the newer guards left once more, leaving the two alone.

It was quiet although he leaned against the bars. Slowly he began to speak, "I forgive you, you know...for what you did. You don't have to blame yourself, I'm not mad at you. I love you and I'll always love you whether you're Nicole, Niki, or Elocin."

She was in the corner again yet when she tightly gripped her arms and flinched he saw from his new vantage point. I noted his calculating gaze before he continued.

"Doesn't this remind you of that time in the fantasy when we were separated even though I left a clone but you thought I was dead? Except now you believe I don't love you. I loved you in our past lives as Alistair and I'll love you now as Lucius. I fought for you...Not in the way you thought but during the fantasy I was fighting for you, for our love. I won't ever hurt you like your father did, I won't leave you like your friends did, I'll always be there for you."

She gripped her hair and shook her head which is when I realized she was crying.

The nutter did too because he acted concerned but I saw the glint in his eyes.

"Oh Nicole, don't cry. Please, I don't want you to be in pain. I love you, I'll always protect you. Can you please speak to me..." his voice lowered so it sounded pained and pleading which twisted my stomach, "I just want to help you, Nicole. Please look at me."

She sobbed harder and let out a muffled squeak as he said louder but not yet at a normal voice level, in a commanding voice.

"Nicole, stop with your self centered bullshit! I've been trying to help you but I don't know what to do," he ran his hand through his long black hair, "What do you want from me? I've been here, I've proved myself to you, I'm _killing_ them for you...I _love_ you. Why can't you see this?"

With wide, disbelieving eyes I watched as the guards returned but the nutter motioned them to his cell and they unlocked it.

What was he doing?

Next he whispered something to them I was unable to pick up with just my headphone but the guards then opened Revis' cell. He walked in with a tall stride that held a sort of excited, almost predatory bounce in his step. He pulled on her arm which caused her to yelp but he pulled her up anyway and forced her against the bed where he managed to hold her still and hug her.

She seemed frozen with a panicked, tear stained face but then began to struggle, "P-Please, leave me alone."

He frowned and I saw his expression darken as he pushed her down onto the bed so he was atop her.

I steeled my stomach at the possibility I would be witnessing a rape. While I've had rapists vividly depict their acts while I was a counselor, it was quite different to see the act and know whatever happened was recorded long ago.

He pinned her wrists as she sobbed and tried to buck him off but he bit her throat harshly and said loudly enough for the camera to pick up, "No, I won't leave you alone," he ground into her, "You aren't allowed to leave me either."

He pressed himself against her tightly so when he let go of her arms she was unable to move him even as he grabbed her chin and forced her to look in his eyes, "I'll kill that doctor for touching you, I'll kill that guard for talking to you, and I'll kill anyone who gets in the way."

Much to her credit she shook off his touch and glared at him defiantly, "Will you kill me as well?"

Instead of replying, he kissed her and despite her attempts to bite him or push him off he clearly dominated her.

He kept his eyes closed as he broke away then opened them and looked like a cat who just finished a bowl of cream, "I missed this...Just us."

She had her head to the side as she refused to reply. Suddenly, he pressed into her shoulders, digging in his nails and lifted her only to slam her back against the bed.

Her eyes were wide with fear as she sharply drew in a breath but he growled lowly before speaking, "Don't you miss this?"

I saw some conflict in her eyes before she leaned forward and kissed him willingly. She pulled back and smiled sweetly, "Yes, I love you."

The loon looked overjoyed and immediately set to kissing her again although this time he focused on her neck. She began to blush and moaned before whispering seductively as she trailed her hand down his back, "Although, I seem to recall you enjoyed it better when I was on top?"

Without a word she flipped them over and straddled him as she ran her hands over his chest, dragging her nails in slightly as she breathed along his neck and gently bit his earlobe.

I found myself repulsed, what was she doing? Such open, crass behavior. I—Was she grinding against him?

Well with the way he moaned and the manner in which the guards began to watch, I suppose she was. The nut wound his hand into her hair as he pulled her against him and trailed a hand down to rest on her butt which he used to grind up into her. He twisted his hand so her neck was painfully stretched out toward him and he breathed heavily before licking and sucking.

Revis blushed and gasped for air as he whispered, "I want to fuck you...I'll mark you so no one else will ever think of taking you away from me again."

She loosened his grip on her hair as she sat atop him before playfully sliding down provocatively until her face was just above his pants, "Why rush things?"

I frowned at her words but I was taken off guard when she cupped him and squeezed harshly causing him to yelp and try to push her off.

She merely smiled, "Aren't you enjoying yourself? You did like it rough..." She twisted her grip and I winced at the pain that must have caused.

The nutter managed to hit her which caused her to slump over him but instead of leaving it at that she pinned him down and began to choke him into the bed, "But I remember you hated being restrained...Why was that?"

He gasped for breath but she only slammed his head against the bed repeatedly with one hand while the other kept his against his chest, "You had no problem tying me up, choking me into submission, but you couldn't take it when I took control..."

He managed to buck her off but once more she surprised me by attacking him. She managed to pull off a shoe before beating him over the head with it.

While the sight would normally be comical, her aggression as she hit him and lashed out made the action seem brutal. Even so, the nutter gained the upper hand when he knocked the shoe out of her hand then pushed her roughly against a wall.

"You'll regret that," he said angrily before harshly biting at her neck causing tears to fall from her eyes.

"That's enough. Our shifts almost over so get back in your cell," one of the fickle guards ordered.

The loon roughly brought a knee between her legs, grinding against her as he bit her neck once more, "I'll fuck you every chance I get, no matter who's around. I'll make sure everyone knows you're mine because I'll have you screaming my name until you're hoarse."

At this point the guards pulled him off her but he continued to talk, "And if you try to leave me...Well, I'm sure you know what I'll do."

Afterward, Revis left her bloodied shoe in a corner and shakily slumped against the wall like a broken doll as she numbly stared at the ground already receding into her mind.

In some sense of reassurance, the rest of the surveillance tapes were filled with that chatty guard who seemed worried when Revis didn't so much as smile in his direction.

So that's what caused her panic...

I exhaled heavily and folded my hands together.

It seems I haven't made a deep enough impression in that loon. He would have to be taken care of but first I would use this experience to draw Revis into a sense of peace. After such violence and mind games, she would welcome an escape, even if it came from me.

Revis was _my _patient, in _my _asylum, and no crazie would change that.

He had no rights to her, nothing that would justify his actions. He failed to see the way in which things were run under _my _rule. He held no power within Arkham and he would soon learn just how pathetic and inferior he really was.

Revis was not his; he would never tame her wit or subdue her heart. In fact, she was already fallen from her usual mindset so whatever victory he felt he had achieved meant less than it would have originally. I, on the other hand, met the _true_ Revis. Not this weak version he saw each day or the deluded one he knew so many years ago.

I knew she didn't think of romance or the past; she was a cold, focused individual with strong beliefs. She was also a worthy pastime for me to toy with or so it would have been if our game of wits weren't interrupted by that damned investigation.

While Revis annoyed me with her arrogance and sharp wit, I still enjoyed the way she was able to hold her own in an argument, let alone one with me. In the light of her involvement with the investigation, I was forced to take measures against her or so I would have been if she hadn't become a patient at Arkham.

After that, I had thought our game would continue to play out but I soon found out for myself the aggravating presence the investigation held as it was pressuring Arkham more than ever. Just as I learned her cold, calculating mind was buried beneath the recent trauma.

Now once more our game was paused until the necessary arrangements were made. The truth was he knew nothing of this woman. In fact, it wasn't in his place to understand or even _think _of her.

_I_ controlled her within our game and if anything she was _mine._


	22. Chapter 20: Blue

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank everyone who has reviewed and read my story so far! You're comments never fail to lift my spirits past any sane length of mania!**

**Next, I'd like to say wow! I had a great time at the cosplay party where my wonderful Megamind cosplayed as Harely while her boyfriend cosplayed as Joker (the Jack Nicholson version) and I cosplayed as Dr. Crane while my girlfriend cosplayed as Revis. There was a lot of laughter and a few skits we went over (or tried to but failed mildly due to the ammount of laughter) but overall it was an amazing time!**

**Anyway, for this chapter it may be a bit confusing, and purposefully so, because it mirrors a broken state of mind which at times plagues me. The scene itself is fiction but there are many similiarities concerning fast thinking, thoughts branching out from other thoughts, repetition, and a very warped perception of reality. To better explain her thoughts, the 'Blue' is Dr. Crane's eyes and by association his calming, yet confusion and usually terrifying, presence. She yearns for his stability amid her panic. Hopefully this makes it a tiny bit clearer.**

**Also I do not own in any way shape or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 20 Revis POV<strong>

I needed to leave Arkham.

This wasn't a desire, a compliant, even a dream...It was a sickening fact. I _needed_ to be free of this place or I would fall into some blackened chasm of my psyche, areas of my mind I kept locked away and had once forgotten.

Yet each blasted day in this cell, the strangled feeling I felt as I passed _his_ cell, the loud yet thankfully polite (well as polite as crazy, criminal men were able to be) inmates, the horrid food, the sense of hopelessness...

I was falling into a part of myself that I didn't liked. To escape the fear and anxiety of my surroundings, I became violent then I was chastised for that and blackmailed into submission which earned me beatings. Afterward, I was moved to solitary and my medication was 'changed' although I have yet to receive a new medicine—Not that I'm eager to complain. I simply thought things would look up until _he_ returned. Then to make matters worse, I spilled my life story, fear, uncertainty, all of my feelings, to my _dear_ doctor.

While I was waiting for our next session the emotional abuse from Lucius hardly helped, if anything I found his words to be wearing on my defenses. After all these years I had moved on but with him whispering, threatening, _touching_ me, I found myself becoming tethered to him like I was so many years ago. I fought against the feeling, the familiarity, because I knew I was right. I lived alone and somewhat happily for many years while he rotted in prison.

For what it was worth, Ernest helped a bit for the fool he was. I found his company amusing and slightly endearing. He spoke to me both cautiously but also like I was a person, whereas Dr. Crane simply labeled me insane and constantly mocked me— Dr. Crane.

I bit my lip trying to restrain whatever bubbling emotion rushed to the surface. Was it happiness, anxiety, more insanity?

Speaking of insanity, it seems the doctor, himself, had a bout of irrationality not too long ago. I remembered the day he suddenly broke his cold fascade and began to panic with relish although the event brought many questions to mind.

It was strange and horrible to see him look so alone, so scared, as he raced away but fell before he neared the couch. I tried to reason with him but it seemed like he was somewhere else entirely. I saw him bat his hands at something around him and whimper. The sound and sight pulled on my heart.

How could someone who was inhumanly cold feel fear or helplessness?

Yet when I tried to help him, he yelled at me—

Oh, how I hated yelling...

I tried to hug him, comfort him in some way, and surprisingly it worked. I do admit aside from the serious circumstance, I found myself blushing at the way he desperately held me to him. It wasn't so much the unusual contact or the fact that someone was flush against me—No, if anything I was used to both although I still hated Lucius for so much as looking at me let alone doing those _things_.

But with Dr. Crane...hugging was different. I felt, well, I felt safe.

Once more, despite all the evidence against him and every moment he spent hurting me, despite my deep hatred, I found myself at ease. He was shockingly tall but I didn't mind. Somehow when his warm yet shaking arms wrapped around me, I smiled and snuggled in closer. I doubt he noticed my reaction but I certainly remembered.

How could I? Was I a betrayer to myself? He was my psychiatrist, my evil, hurtful psychiatrist...and I liked him.

I furrowed my brows against this thought.

That wasn't right, I _hated_ him.

He was threatening me and cared for only himself. That syringe he was carrying and accidentally injected into himself, if that was meant for me then wouldn't I have had the same reactions?

I couldn't trust him...

He was cruel, beautifully cruel; he was a monster, a monster who made my heart skip a beat and made me catch my breath; he was...he was taking over me.

Every moment, every time I saw him, it got worse. Hate covered it, I was very efficient at hating. I used my boundless hate for the asylum and my weakness and applied it to the incarnation of Arkham: my psychiatrist.

From the moment I drowned in his essence, I found something terrifying but addicting. I craved that feeling, I craved him—

No, this was wrong—

By who's standards? Wasn't I already wrong?

No one understood Death. No one believed in me anymore. No one took interest in me aside from that officer, _him, _and Dr. Crane.

The officer was a way to build a one-sided trust so when I escaped he would help, Lucius was a threat which I had to take care of soon, and Dr. Crane was...

He was gorgeous, cold, calculating, infuriatingly cocky, wonderfully terrifying—

He was everything.

Enough of this, I needed to leave Arkham. I craved freedom and I would find a way to leave. There was too much security to simply sneak away and hope for the best but that didn't rule out every option. Perhaps the kitchen would offer some escape route, maybe the air vents, or the sewers. Nevermind that Arkham was on an island, I would swim if I had to, but I _needed_ to leave.

This was suffocating, I couldn't handle much more. I was starting to fall into something greater than myself...What I feared was actually _someone_ else.

My hatred, my fear, my conflicting surroundings, all of it made up each day. I ate with my lethal thoughts, swallowed back pain with an indifferent fascade, fought against psychotic episodes with a strict control that was slowly morphing, growing into something, maybe someone, darker.

My thoughts once more drove me into confusing circles. Reality was perception but if all I perceived, all I felt, were fear, anger, and insanity then did that make up what I was, what I was in? This defense against panic was failing, it was dragging me down.

At times, I found myself staring at the wall with no memory of moving off my bed. I found myself speaking without hearing what I was saying, entire conversations were like gibberish. I felt like I was loosing myself to something else.

But I was me, that's all I needed to know. I was death and I was me.

But who _was_ I? I used to know or at least think I knew.

I used to read, work, hide, hate, yearn, think, relax, dream...but now I hate, fear, cry, fight, scream.

What happened to me? Was I splitting in two?

Death hated imprisonment, in fact, Death was here the whole time but wasn't I Death? I read life, I cared for the dead. Surely I was an extension of Death, a mere guise to bestow punishment and servitude to those who deserved it.

My past was odd, dark, scattered, and I didn't like it.

Once more my head throbbed as I tried to understand myself.

This hatred...I was never so angry, never so afraid.

Of course, I feared others but only because of my talent. I was often cross with my coworkers because of the sensitive work I undertook, but I was not a bitter—

Well, I was to an extent. I suppose then I was bittersweet.

I held my head as a sudden pain shot through me.

I hated this, this indecisiveness, the uncertainty. When I tried to think, to understand, I only hurt myself further.

In the past, I thought I was Schizophrenic. After a few odd occurrences when my friends told me I wasn't myself, even when I had a different mentality—No, a different mind with only vague hints of what I knew as myself—I pondered the possibility of having Dissociative Personality Disorder but those bouts were far from consistent and within my delusion I allowed myself to become 'possessed' by different wills, fall into trances, and twist my uncertainty, my episodes, into some rational part of my delusion. I was adept at fooling myself. Twice I almost managed to forget my life but some tugging sensation reminded me or something as simple as finding a piece of paper with my name on it triggered my memory.

I couldn't trust my mind, it was—No, _I _was unstable.

I sucked in a deep breath and fought to restrain the panic which shot through me but meaningless thoughts raced through my mind. Too busy trying to calm the sudden flood of energy and anxiety, I let them race through my head.

Doubt. Doubt. Worry. Doubt.

I laughed darkly.

Was there nothing left?

Dark trees. Pretty silhouettes; the contrast.

Contrast.

Why was there contrast, opposition?

I knew of fractals, the pattern of nature, an equation of math, but what of contrast? All that was, IS, will, has been a mix of everything.

Life. Life. Death.

No, I was Death.

I laughed a bit more but hugged myself to keep myself from falling up.

Falling up? Throwing up? Falling down?

Why did trees fall down?

I knew the human psyche was like a tree: past, present, future; roots, trunk, branches...it all created a base—

Base.

Where was my basis?

I knew naught; naught to know.

Was the mind shattered, the psyche rot?

Think too much, too hard, and everything fell into insanity. Nothing was stable—

I shuddered uncomfortably.

Stable. Real. Reality?

What was the point in wishing away half of one's life?

Dreams were merely another state of reality. Humans were amazing creatures to live in so many different realities, to have the ability to hop between worlds—

But why did our brain never rest? Was it so much like the shark? If we stopped thinking would we die? Would we know we're dead?

My breath was hard, hard like my bone.

Where was my bone?

I felt them. I heard them: crunchcrunchcrunch...

Eww, no.

I rolled onto my bed and moaned as my stomach lurched. More dribbled words fell around me.

Ah! The wax, the hot wax, it was falling! I was drowning, help!

I tried to scream but instead I sobbed.

At this point a sharp, dark, dull, black what?

This—

My head lulled...lulled—

Was I sleeping?

No, I was in the ocean. I've never been in the ocean before. Lull, lure, lull, tug, pull, tides—

No, the ocean was too wet. AHHHH!

I screamed as I held my head, my mind shattered into black, red, red, red, red, silver—

No. Grey, purple(?)—

No. Black, red, red, red—

I moaned sobbing in between screams.

Why did it hurt?

Ah...I felt drugged.

Drugged. Dark. Wet. Blood(?)—

No, simply cold.

Cold. Cold eyes. Where were the cold, blue eye?.

Ow, my head. The pain, the thoughts, the wet chill.

Tears? Were there cold tears?

I tried to find my breath but it ran away with my mind—

Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow...

Soft blue, so blue.

"What happened?" the blue said.

"I don't know, she was sitting in her cell quiet as usual when she started laughing, she laughed a bit then fell over."

Wax started dripping again.

"And then?"

"She started to cry or panic, not sure which or if there's a difference. I tried to talk to her but she only lashed out but didn't seem to be there, like mentally. She sure screamed bloody murder in the halls as we took her here."

"Is she stable—"

I let out a wail and fell forward, bleeding heat and tears.

Why was I melting—

Make it go away...

It hurt, my head, it hurt!

Hands touched me—

No! No more hands. Stop hands, stop!

I couldn't catch my breath (maybe it was with my mind) so instead I screamed. I screamed and screamed because screaming helped.

I couldn't breath, maybe I'd die and Death—

No, not Death.

I was ME! ME! ME!

Who was I?

Heat, so hot, searing heat.

I dug my hands in my hair and tried to stop the thoughts from pouring out like one would staunch blood from a wound. I screamed once more before the heat shifted.

More hands—

Dammit, GET OFF ME!

"Revis, calm yourself," the blue was here but it was a shadow.

Ha, the shadow's were speaking...

I tried to laugh but mid breath my face crumpled and I started shaking.

No, I can't shake my bones would break.

Shake. Break. Take—

No, don't take me away!

NO ARKHAM! BAD ARKHAM...

Are. Are. Are. No. Was. Was. Was.

"What's she saying?"

The wax hurt. Wax was hot, I wanted blue, cold blue.

"Revis, breathe. Focus on the sound of my voice."

Hot. Heat. Panic. Searing. Pain...It hurt; the heat was everywhere. I wanted blue, cold blue.

I saw blue...pale blue.

While I couldn't move I struggled.

Struggled. Fought. Fight. Battles—No, battle over—

"Revis, I need you to concentrate—Perhaps, it'd be best if you left, Officer Greene."

Blue...Icy, blue.

Thud. Thud. Clunk. SMACK!—

Silence.

I whimpered and closed my eyes, trying to...to what?

"That's good, keep on listening. We're alone now but you need to hear me clearly."

Clear...clear blue, pale blue.

"Breathe and listen."

Soothing blue, calming blue.

"Revis can you open your eyes for me," I sucked in a harsh breath and felt myself heating up again.

Where was the blue? No, the blue was melting—

"Revis, Revis...just listen to my voice."

I wanted to giggle at the voice, the smooth, cool voice but I might move and fall...

Where would I fall?

"Nowhere, you're here in my office and nothing is falling. Just listen to me. Can you hear me? Are you focusing? Calm yourself."

Calm myself...Calm myself...Calm myself—

Against what? What was there?

"Nothing is there, just keep listening."

Blue. Blue. I needed to see blue.

I opened my eyes and at first it was blurred, chaos everywhere—

No, not the chaos!

Corruption. Rotting. Sinister—

Blue.

I shakily reached out to the blue in a daze.

"So blue..."

The blue was coming into focus.

Focus.

Focus on blue.

Cool blue. Cold blue. Soothing blue. Pale blue. Clear blue.

Blue. Blue. Blue.

I fell back, back into the cool blue, then swallowed and looked around at the clearer settings although they seemed slightly blurred without my—I raised a hand to my face.

"Your glasses are right here, do you want them?"

I paused then shook my head. I tried to sit up but my head, neck, and back all flared up in a _hot,_ white flash of pain.

Ugh, pain.

"Revis," I looked tiredly at the blue—

No, there was white and brown and grey and more white and blue, "Are you concentrating?"

I blinked slowly and nodded before bringing a shaky hand to my head. I hissed but felt another, _cool_ hand on mine which lowered my hand.

"Revis, do you want to tell me a story? You can tell me anything you like."

I tried to regain my bearings by closing my eyes but I opened them as the dark took away the blue, "I-I don't..." my head started falling before the _cool_ hand held it up, "I don't write...anymore."

"That's fine, you don't have to write but you can tell me a story if you wish."

I wanted to berate the blue but I was still weak and slightly confused, so I let it slide.

"Revis?"

I felt something drip or pour, some liquid like essence fill a mould in my mind, the mould the blue created.

Without opening my eyes—When had I closed them (?), I spoke, "I'm not a child."

I coldly looked at Dr. Crane, "Don't cajole me."

His eyes tightened before he backed away to stand as I painfully sat up. I sighed and dipped my head in my hands before looking up once more. I took a deep breath and looked at Dr. Crane. I struggled to find something to say but any thought deteriorated before I could make sense of it.

"Well, that was quite an outburst," he commented carefully.

I wanted to glare but the bile in my throat made any hate—

Hate...that's what this was.

I stood and almost fell over but managed to keep my legs standing. I panted before I straightened myself and lifted my head to Dr. Crane, "I blame you," before he could interrupt I continued, "I blame you for everything," I laughed harshly and gestured around, "_This_ is to blame as well but mainly, I blame you."

"Whatever are you talking about, Revis?" he asked with that blank, plastic fascade.

"You, this place, everything's been wearing down on me since I arrived here and it's your fault entirely," I walked closer to him, "You see, I know you don't care. This is only some sick, amusing game to you," I was less than a foot away and I glared heatedly at him, "But I blame you for making _me_ care."

I swallowed before continuing, "You and your games, this place, all of it has taken everything," I closed my eyes before opening them again, "You've hurt me more than I would have believed possible and for what? For nothing but your own musings. You don't care!" I raised my voice and resisted the urge to push him back, "You've taken away everything and it means _nothing_ to you...but you made me care, made me _open up_," I harshly spat the words then smiled at him in a demented way, "And I blame you."

"Your weaknesses are no concern of mine," he said smoothly.

"NO!" I shouted then collected my wits and continued as I glared, "You don't understand how it is. I can't _take _this anymore," I held my head in my hands, "I can't think, I can't breathe, I can't do anything...without it falling apart."

He was silent so I continued as I placed my hands at my sides again and gave him a seething yet hurt look, "Every time I try to think of who I am, what makes up the person I am, I can't. My head hurts, I can't think straight. Trying to figure out what to do or even thinking over my past it all confuses me. I didn't have this problem before you. I had a life, a job, a _stable_ mind but now, thanks to _you_, I have nothing."

He smirked...

He had the audacity to _smirk!_

I lunged at him and pressed him against the desk, "How dare you give me that look? After everything you've done," I lifted my hands as I tried to hit him in someway yet he easily caught my wrists despite the fact that I was already moving past the moment.

I spoke in a quiet voice as my arms hung limply from his grip, "Do you know what it's like to doubt yourself every moment? I've suffered, I've been broken so many times in the past and by only myself. Whatever 'defense mechanism' might have appeared due to past trauma is tearing me apart.

'I can't control my thoughts, I don't even know if they're my thoughts to think...What's the point in thinking if everything simply falls apart," my voice cracked but I continued, "What use is there in living, in dreaming for something greater, when I can't _think_ clearly to myself?"

"Revis..." he started but I cut him off as tears fell.

"N-No, you don't understand. I don't know who _I _am. I've been fractured into a broken mess when I came here..." I hung my head, "The fear, the hate, it's destroying me. I—I," I broke off to sob, "What am I?"

I sucked in a rough breath as I was suddenly in his arms.

I froze as he held me.

What—Why did I care?

I gave up fighting and simply slumped against him while the tears began to slow.

"Revis, I do care."

My eyes widened as I listened to the steady beat of his heart.

"Your instability is merely an aftereffect of your attempts to intellectualize everything. You are unable to explain, to rationalize, your mind and its quirks which causes you to panic. Now Revis, why do you have to know everything?"

I froze once more and shifted uncomfortably, "I..."

"Is it because you feel that you must control everything? That you must understand everything while allowing yourself to live in the belief you're safe?"

I began to shake but he only held me tighter as he whispered, "You don't have to feel that way anymore. You said you cared but I'm asking you to _trust_ me."

I took in a breath and tried to pull back but he kept me within his arms, "_Trust_ me, Revis. I can keep you safe, in fact I already have been. Would you like to know how?"

I shook my head and mumbled, "Threats and insults aren't very safe or trustworthy."

I flinched as one of his hands ran up and down my back in a soothing motion, "You have yet to see everything. Would you care to know how I've kept you safe—Why you should trust me?"

I felt chills break out so I snuggled in closer as I clutched at his suit, fearing the worst but tentatively hoping for the best, "Y-You aren't lying?"

He chuckled, "No Revis, I'm not lying," he lifted my chin so I looked into his calculating, blue eyes.

I was weak and weary so his rich, addicting energy flowed onto me with a cloying pressure. I started to see flickers of something but I pulled away from both him and the touch.

I let my head drop, "I'm tired..."

"Too much energy?" he asked and my head shot up to look at him with mistrust.

I edged away and began to panic but he stepped forward and held me gently by my shoulders, "I meant you've exerted so much energy, it only makes sense you're tired. Go to sleep when you return to your cell. I'll wake you later to show you something that may change your mind."

I furrowed my eyebrows as I thought over everything as best I could but in the end his hypnotizing, blue eyes stole both my breath and my thoughts.

I nodded slowly, "I-I suppose..."


	23. Chapter 21: Chemicals

**Ello! Minion here! Before I get into business and give credit to all you amazing readers' and reviewers', I have tremendously fantastic news! My wonderful Megamind took me out to the Batman Dark Knight Rises movie! It was soooo INTENSE! Although the movie finished around midnight we spent about nine hours (thoroughly waving goodbye to any idea of sleep) fangirling over the movie, discussing our plot, creating new ideas, and all around organizing our story with the third movie in consideration. Well maybe 'consideration' is a bit weak of a word seeing as Bane made a HUGE impact in the movie and therefore will have a very large impact within our story yet the eight year gap between the end of the Dark Knight (and a month after the story begins) and the beginning of the Dark Knight Rises leaves A LOT to work with. For most of that gap (within reason of course) Revis and Dr. Crane play a big role yet as the end of those eight years and the plot of the third movie the story will then lead to Megamind's side of our tale for quite a while until we have laid down TONS of hints and events that will rock the DC Universe when we both team up our writing skills and tie in the two sides together so as to give a fitting end to our tale. **

**Yet in order to do all of this I will be keeping Mors Et Timor as the main story for the three parts involved instead of separating them into three separate stories. In about six chapters 'Mors Et Timor' or 'Part One' will end and 'Timor Et Mors' or 'Part Two' will follow although obviously the original summary will no longer cover the content of the story but I may give a summary in the Author's Note of the prologue of 'Part Two'. This may be repeated with the beginning of 'Part Three', 'Iustitia' . Yet at the end of 'Mors Et Timor' as a whole story of three parts, Megamind will start a new story (title and length unknown) with her side of events where I left off. Once that is complete will with join our forces together for the finale! Yet Megamind and I are already hard at work in making the necessary changes and additions to our respective sides of the story. I am sooo excited for the amazingness to come!**

**Yet this brings me back to an important note. In chapter 18 "The Meeting", I made mention of a Sable Lukk, psychologist within Arkham and object of Dr. Crane's hatred yet after discussing things Megamind and I, we have decided to take out any mention of Sable as a psychologist due to a change in occupation and dubet into the story. I have already reuploaded chapter 18 which now has no mention of Sable (or Warden Sharp who was used as a footnote in my story for Megamind's side but is now no longer needed) but has new mention of Joker breaching various security measures. I apologize for the sudden change yet I assure you things will be MUCH better this way.**

**Next I'd like to thank everyone who has read and reviewed my humble yet demented story! It's amazing to see what everyone thinks and know the impact of each chapter as the action intensifies. The stakes will only raise as the end of the first part approaches. I hope you all enjoy the intense (and IMMENSE) tale we have brewing!**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 21<strong>

"Revis?" a soothing voice whispered.

I breathed in deeply but clung to the dark recesses of my mind.

"Revis?" the voice spoke again.

A hand touched my shoulder and immediately I shot up only to have Dr. Crane place both hands on my shoulders in order to subdue me.

Without another word, he gave me a sharp look then gestured to the door of my cell. I swallowed and unsteadily sat up, making sure I was wearing my glasses before I followed him out the door.

What an eerie feeling it was to walk around Arkham in the night beside my psychiatrist. I was mildly worried about the cameras for surely this was _not_ an approved walk, yet my concerns soon lessened as the dread of journeying through the asylum at _night_ overtook my mind. Soon I was practically walking on his shadow as we passed a few corridors on the way to the medical wing—

Immediately, suspicion shot through me.

Was this a trick to place me into some treatment?

He must have either felt my tension or heard my footsteps fall behind because he turned back to meet my suspicious gaze. Instead of reassuring me, he merely cocked his head to the side and stared at me boredly as if my mistrust was merely a childish antic.

I swallowed and began walking again but kept my once sleepy sense alert. We walked past the operation room which—point was I've been here before. The only difference was at the end of the hallway, he took a left to what seemed to be a not yet renovated area of the asylum's medical wing.

He ducked under the tape barring it from the rest of the hallway allowing me to follow although I stumbled trying to walk around debris of the gutted floor without incident. He gave me a sharp look then opened a door and waited for me to cross over the threshold.

I froze and for the first time since Lucius returned, I collected my mind enough to search out his energy. When I met a block of sorts I frowned then looked to the doorway so my frustration would be seen as reluctance.

He rolled his eyes then tightly grabbed my shoulder. Taking my chance, I placed my hand over his and tried to pull it off yet in actuality I was searching for some intent or thought.

Instead, I was overwhelmed by a feeling of excitement, anger, pleasure, and minimal anxiety. I tried to search more but just before I started to see something he pushed me forward forcing me to turn my focus on my new surroundings.

Wasn't this just an empty hallway with boarded up doors?

I felt another hand at my back which caused me to flinch but I allowed him to steer me to the middle door and push me through that one as well.

I froze at the entrance as I looked at the strange lab equipment. Gingerly, I walked around and looked closer at the various bottles and test tubes.

So he was hiding a secret lab in the old gutted area of the asylum?

I read some of the labels but most the chemical abbreviations were lost on me. While I mixed plenty of chemicals for the morgue there were always written out not drawn in short, brief letters and numbers. I then walked further along the table and stared at a wall of jars filled with odd fluids.

He gave me an odd look at my inquiry yet deemed my interest safe enough as he waited while I once more looked around the lab.

On one of the tables rested a spiral. I gingerly picked it up but he shot forward and pulled the spiral from my hands. I backed away carefully and looked at the ground, "So is this what you wanted to show me?"

He cleared his throat, "No, this is merely on the way to what I wanted to show you."

I nodded then hugged myself as I walked near the walkway, beside the door and waited for him to move on. Once he was done staring at me oddly, he lead me into another hallway and past another door until we reached the bright lights of the fully operable medical wing; the pristine walls and polished floor were only interrupted by a janitorial cart halfway down the hallway. I blinked against the bright glare which seemed impossibly bright compared to the much darker decrypt halls and lab.

I followed him then froze as I saw a man in a straightjacket scream his head off although no sound came out from the large cell. Dr. Crane pulled me further down the hall although in each room I saw about the same thing, traumatized inmates either silently screaming, seemingly to ramble on while looking paranoid, lying in near comatose, or scratching at the walls begging and cowering.

"Do you recognize any of these crazies?" he asked calmly as if he was commenting on the colour of the walls.

I shrunk into him a bit as I looked around at the various cells each depicting a hellish sight. They all seemed to be in such pain; their faces contorted into snarling masks or either fear or hate—Wait a minute.

I roughly sucked in air and I could almost feel Dr. Crane smile as he spoke, "Yes, I thought you might."

I turned around so I could look up at his face, I had no words for what I was asking, knowing, feeling, for anything really, but he merely took my shoulders firmly and spoke, "Can you trust me now? I've been protecting you from those who beat you when you were," he smirked condescendingly, "_defenseless._"

I looked at his suit while I tried to gather my thoughts. That's why there were no inmates to hurt me, that's why everyone regarded me with a sort of scared reverence, all because of Dr. Crane...

I raised my head to ask in a calm voice, "'Unfortunate' reactions to medicine?"

He smirked once more, "Not quite, although you're very close," he let go of me to walk up to a cell with his hands clasped behind his back.

Inside the cell a man was sobbing uncontrollably and seemed on the verge of a heart attack, "You see Revis, I make my own particular _brand_ of medicine," he looked over his shoulder to smile at me, "You've experienced mild doses before."

My eyes widened as I realized he was right. Those maggots, that zombie...What, I couldn't even think what to ask. This was—

I hadn't noticed how close he drew near me until I heard him speak, "I suppose this may come as quite a shock to you although I'm disappointed...I thought certainly you would have figured it out sooner. You had your suspicions before you were admitted into the asylum, I read them in those journals you kept. In fact, with your persistence I was sure you would eventually stumble upon the truth."

He pulled a journal from his suit and opened to a book-marked page then began to read, " 'Despite the inconsistency between mental disorders, Al Jacob Robinson, a mental patient at Elisabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane, suffered from both Bi-polar Disorder and bizarre visions of what he called 'boogeymen'. The probability of any existing past trauma indulgent to the belief of such a tormentor is unlikely just as the possibility of a deluded perception the patient might have associated with his caregivers. The suspicious circumstances of his 'change in medication' alludes to either incompetent or sinister workings at the asylum.

'While Mr. Robinson led a life most would prefer to leave in the shadows there is no evidence indicating any intentional attempts to fall into the eternal abyss. During my time at the asylum I felt much of the pain Mr. Robinson felt, the treatments he endured from both patients and his cold psychiatrist, Dr. Crane. This information leaves me to suspect either a pressured incident or other acts of foul play.

'The few redeeming qualities of Mr. Robinson's stay within the asylum lies in the beneficial progress between his elder counselor, Dr. Shaw. Aside from the rages in which Mr. Robinson suffered there are no indications mentally or emotionally, as well as a lack reported desires to harm, let alone kill others.' Quite brilliantly written, so in _depth_, I wonder how you were able to so deeply examine the dead loon. Of course, you carry on to speak of his past and aside from your horrid penmanship you're quite a talented writer."

He pocketed the book as I tensed.

How could I be so stupid as to assume he wouldn't read my journals?! Did he figure out my talent or would he believe I fabricated the journals to justify my patients acts in life?

Dr. Crane stared at me coolly, "I had plans to deal with you but I find the more recent chain of events to be more _suiting_ toward my plans."

Chills broke out along my arms as I looked at him in a guarded way, "My patient, Mr. Robinson...you poisoned him with those hallucinations. You're responsible for his death. "

He smiled and cockily replied, "Of course."

Those monsters...They weren't figments of insanity or actual beasts, they were chemical reactions. He was poisoning inmates, dragging them deeper into insanity...but why?

No, 'why' wasn't important. I had enough information and an actual place to give proof of his crimes, I just needed a way to tell someone who would believe me. I needed to find someone who would actually look into the matter personally and without notifying Dr. Crane or anyone else. No names came to mind so instead I looked around at the cells as I tried to finalize my new plan to leave the asylum.

"I find your reaction lacking...Don't you have any questions, any arguments, demands, anything?"

I turned to face him and shifted my weight, "I have no qualms with you concerning Mr. Robinson's death; I myself have killed..." of course that didn't excuse the torture my patient suffered _that _was verging on personal but I would attend to that later. If I learned anything under Dr. Crane's rule it was patience and control, "but I do have one question."

His face grew carefully blank while his eyes tightened, "Yes?"

I looked down then glanced up shyly hating myself for the act but needing the distraction, "So that zombie wasn't real?"

He raised both eyebrows in a way that both answered my question and insulted me.

I sighed and looked at the ground as I said convincingly, "Damn, I wanted to ask him some questions..."

This time he sighed heavily then walked up to me, "I've been protecting you this entire time..."

I sharply raised my head, "Don't expect any consolation. I never asked you to do this. In fact, you're the one who started this by threatening me and drugging me."

He kept his face blank...too blank.

I backed away slowly as he neared me, "Interesting notion although I was sure you would realize whether or not I medicated you or treated you with those procedures, the result would be the same. Those men would have extracted their revenge and you would have been overwhelmed. However," he lifted my chin, ignoring the way I cringed, "you've caused quite a commotion and tomorrow you'll have your first day in insulin shock therapy."

I shook from both fear and anger but jerked away from his touch—Damn, my control was slipping, "What use is there in 'protecting'," I practically spat the word, "me when I'm only going to end up like them."

He didn't smile or smirk but simply focused his pale eyes on me which seemed to dance with a dark emotion in the too bright lights, "I believe you're mistaken. The difference between you and the rest of the crazies lies in your reaction to my medicine," he neared me but when I tried to back away I realized I was already at the end of the hallway with no where to go, "You show an odd resilience which I'll be sure to exploit in the future but for the moment you need to be disciplined."

I fought the urge to attack him, I had the secluded environment to my benefit but if I were to lose I would have no defense against him. Not to mention, the surveillance of this hallway was no doubt intact due to the type of high care patients within its bounadries. It was all too suspicious of circumstances unless he planned to erase the footage later—Yet weren't there supposed to be guards watching the footage at all times?

"What's wrong...Nicole?"

I whipped my head up and glared at him deeply.

He cocked his head, "I apologize _Nicole_, I hadn't realized your sensitivity to your own name...or perhaps your aversion is caused by Mr. Gray's use—"

I lunged against him and knocked him into the thick, bulletproof glass of an inmate's cell. I quickly caught his arms behind his back with my left hand while I leaned into him and held his neck in a tight grip as I pushed his face into the cell. He struggled but I held the power.

Oh yes, I was past control and I _would_ conduct my experiment.

"Tsk tsk Doctor, I thought you knew better than to give so much leverage to one of the 'crazies'."

I dug my nails into his throat while I quickly mapped out my choices of attack nevermind the possibility of a rush of guards brought on by camera surveillance. I needed to incapacitate him somehow without killing him quickly—No, I most definitely wanted this man to suffer. Most likely he wore a belt but it was too risky to reach for that at the moment besides the hallway was clear aside from that janitorial cart...

I bashed his head against the cell of a comatose patient then roughly shoved him into the cart as I grabbed a roll of duct tape which the cart carried. Quickly, I grabbed his wrists and tightly bound them before grabbing his throat and pushing him into the wall.

Hmm, what do you know duct tape _does_ fix everything.

From our new position, I had his hands bound and my body pressed against his so he wasn't able to even lift his arms, let alone do anything to hurt me. I would have to get his legs sometime soon but I had time to spare.

He glared at me although the effect was ruined because his glasses were askew.

"I apologize Dr. Crane, I hadn't realized your sensitivity to your own faults. I had no idea it would be so easy to subdue you...but now that I have you where I want you..." I smiled sadistically before I kneed his groin.

He cried out softly but I took the time to push him to the floor and tie his legs down as well.

Come to think of it there was never such a thing as too much duct tape.

Giggling slightly, I wrapped more duct tape around his shoulders and arms so he was bound up tightly. At this point he was thrashing around although it didn't help him much.

"What do you expect to gain from this?" he asked in an angry voice.

I shrugged my shoulders, "Whatever I wish."

I pulled the cart closer, taking note of the abundance of chemicals and cleaning tools.

I smiled as a thought came to mind.

I looked over at the helpless psychiatrist, "You know most these chemicals aren't too different from embalming fluids and while I've never embalmed someone who was alive, I'm sure it won't be too difficult," despite his efforts at looking angry I saw sweat bead at his forehead, "Of course, the blood loss would either kill you or cause you to fall into shock—Not to mention, it would create a mess," I laughed, "Then again there _is _a cleaning cart."

My smile faded as my mood changed. Here was the janitor's cart but where was the janitor?

I looked down the hall to see a small curve. I then cast my gaze to Dr. Crane who I kicked until he was in the center of the hall and winded. Somewhere along the way he lost his glasses but I thought that only added to his vulnerability yet sadly I had no time to admire his weak position.

Grabbing the bleach and iron wool on a stick off the cart I walked quickly to the juncture. I heard a tune of whistling which Dr. Crane must have heard as well because he called out which drew the nearing person closer. I backed away from the corner as the janitor came jogging around.

He paled at the sight of me and Dr. Crane yet I easily lifted the bleach bottle and sprayed his wide eyes then dropped the bottle to grab his hair and shove the iron wool down his throat as I roughly began to scrub.

Blood occasionally flew up to hit my face but thankfully it left my glasses clear and his screams of pain were muffled as he flailed around. I felt him shudder as he began to choke around his bleeding throat then dragged him by his hair to the cleaning cart where I duct taped his hands behind his back and shoved the iron wool down further before dropping him onto the floor carelessly.

I turned to Dr. Crane and smiled sweetly, "Well now that that's taken care of..."

I turned to the cart and pondered the possibilities, "My original plans were for your office, perhaps a bit of nerve damage and such but mainly I wanted to do something about that infuriating smirk of yours."

I turned to look at him genuinely, "At first, I simply wanted to tear away your mouth or perhaps sew it shut but that was too boring and if I got carried away I might reach the muscular structure of your face, even the bone, and that would be a sort of mocking smile from your mandible...but now I'm feeling a bit more creative. I suppose all your 'medical treatments' have _inspired _me. In fact, most 'procedures' are closely linked to the different torture methods used during the inquisition and other infamous moments in humanity's past."

His eyes widened and he seemed a bit flushed but he continued to act angry, "This won't change your _scheduled_ appointment. Even if you kill me—"

I shook my head, "_If_ I killed you—Why, I have no intention of killing you. First I'm going to have some fun and then you're going to call off the procedure."

He spoke calmly despite the fact that I could tell he was irate, "That would take too much time. Besides the janitor's already dead shouldn't you be taking care of that?"

I shook my head, "He's alive, in about an hour he'll die from slow suffocation; however, the blood pooling in the bottom of his throat should give off the sensation of drowning while each attempt to swallow, cough, or breathe will only cut the already lacerated structure of his esophagus."

Dr. Crane frowned deeply while I reached for the cart, my resolve in place.

I placed various items into one of the cardboard boxes then placed the box near him before lifting his chin and turning it side to side, ignoring his dark glare.

"Now Dr. Crane, what I'm focusing on is how to ensure you won't swallow your tongue...For what I have in mind, I'll have to break your jaw in multiple places as well as open your throat to make sure you don't choke of bone fragments," I sighed and tapped his cheek twice, "Well it's a good thing we have sterilizing tools!"

While I was lacking medical thread to sew his tongue down I had something else needed to remove his tongue entirely.

"How am I to call off the procedure if I can't speak?"

I opened then poured the bleach into a now empty box of sponges after swirling the contents around and dumping them in a nearby bucket. After quickly scanning the cart for a potentially weapon (and raising my eyes at sight of a lighter and pack of cigarettes) my gaze settled on the blue, chipping paint of a sheathed box cutter.

Well, it wasn't perfect but it would do.

Without wasting time, I filled the container once more in order to place a box cutter inside.

That should soak for a bit...

"Well I suppose you're right...instead I'll just demand the procedure to be canceled if they want you returned alive and before you start planning some revenge or something equally useless, I can assure you that you've earned a long vacation in the ICU."

He was silent so I continued to plan out my next action. I was thinking something along the lines of 'the pear': a torture device used during the inquisition which was inserted into the victims mouth then opened to the point their jaw broke.

Since I lacked the tools to recreate the device I would simply break the jaw then fold it up and melt it to the rest of his face ridding him of that damned mouth entirely. However, I figured the best way to keep him still without having him bite my hand as I removed his tongue, would be for him to be unconscious.

Well what's a little brain damage in the light of revenge?

I mixed various chemicals on a ragged cloth used for scrubbing windows then folded it over to avoid direct exposure. The smell had me gagging slightly so I knew he would pass out quickly enough.

I placed the rag over his mouth and nose noting how his eyes closed yet tears fell from either side of his face. Even so, I wasn't fooled. I knew the tears were from the chemical fumes which irritated his eyes; Dr. Crane wasn't the type to cry or plead for mercy.

I counted to thirty as he thrashed around yet continued to breathe in the fumes until he stilled, his chest moving up and down slowly. Satisfied, I pulled away the rag then gingerly removed the box cutter from the bleach.

After cleaning it off with a paper towel, I leaned over him to prop his head up with a mostly rectangular container holding 'heavy duty' cleaning chemicals. Just as I opened his mouth and was about to reach inside, his eyes snapped open as he brought his head harshly against mine.

Ugh...

I tried to pick myself up off him when he rolled over atop me even as I tried to get him off.

Damn my head was throbbing—Yet how was he still awake?

Somehow he freed his hands despite the sure restraint of his arms.

Awkwardly, seeing as he had to keep me pinned while moving in a constricted manner, he reached toward his belt.

Suddenly, a strange gas flew into my face.

I turned away from it and tried to hold my breath while struggling but he merely leaned harshly on my ribs so my breath left me. Feeling the air escape me, he backed away—Well, more like fell away in order to remove himself from the range of the gas as I weakly gasped but dragged myself away from the more concentrated area where the gas hit.

Strangely enough, I didn't feel fear, panic, or see anything unusual but I felt severely weakened.

I sagged against the opposite wall while trying to keep my head from spinning. Distantly, I heard a ripping noise and could only assume he was using the box cutter to cut himself free.

Ugh, no I needed to leave.

Stumbling up, I started to drunkenly walk toward the hallway's curve. Filled with paranoia, I glanced back and saw Dr. Crane glaring at me as he ripped away the last of the duct tape.

Eyes wide I tried to race forward but tripped over the gurgling body of the janitor. After harshly falling into the floor, I shook my head and focused on the janitor's twitching body. Hurriedly, I felt along his pants for a key which would allow me access to the rest of the building but my stumbling fingers were too clumsy to search him properly.

Fuck, I needed to hurry!

Taking a risk, I ripped the iron wool from his throat as he turned over coughing and sobbing. I was halfway on my feet, prepared to reuse the impromptu weapon, when I was tackled into the ground.

I was expecting pain, fear, _something_ but instead he kept me against the ground. It was then that I heard the all too familiar sound of duct tape before he bound my wrists up to my elbows in the damnably efficient substance.

I rolled my eyes angrily. As if I wasn't already uncomfortable, having my arms bound so tightly _behind_ my back only made me more irritated. What can I say, I'm a bitch when I'm in pain.

"Get off!" I growled roughly while fighting the inevitable...

I knew I was too weak to push him away but I was pissed and refused to cease in my struggle.

Without warning, he pulled me up by my hair so I was even more _uncomfortably _placed with my back bent oddly, my arms bound painfully with my elbows aching, and my head spinning, "What made you think I would actually let you go, hm?"

I glared heatedly but he simply shoved me against the wall where he let me wiggle around trying to find purchase against the smooth wall as he grabbed his glasses then started speaking in an odd code—Wait, I thought only the security guards had walkie talkies!

I huffed in frustration at my situation. Even my glasses were further down my nose than I would like but seeing as I couldn't fix them I let it slide. However, my hair was also in my face which made my slightly blurred sight even more strained. And so I panted with the exertion I felt under whatever he gassed me with, a type of sedative(?), as I quickly thought out a plan of action.

Damn him, I wouldn't let him win this.

Putting my plan into use, I uneasily stood which he didn't notice at first because he was leaning over the janitor's bleeding body to use the walkie talkie. When he _did_ look over I aimed a kick for his face but didn't waste time to gloat over my triumph at once more turning the tables.

Instead I awkwardly made my way to the cart, managing to grab a smooth, metal rectangle near a pack of cigarettes by turning around and jumping up a bit.

Most janitors knew not to carry a lighter but I suppose the temptation of poisoning one's lungs outweighed the risk of an explosion.

I heard Dr. Crane behind me so I dove toward the container of chemicals I had placed along the ground earlier. Unfortunately, I landed roughly which caused me to cry out but as he picked me up by one of my arms I noted that I had broken a plastic container, allowing the fluid to seep everywhere, including on myself. He was about to make some retort when I flicked open the lighter and easily drew a flame from the small package. I dropped the lighter fearing it would extinguish but thankfully the flames spread everywhere.

I smiled triumphantly at Dr. Crane as he backed away from the growing fire that cast a golden light upon the frenzied inmates in the cell, painting a macabre picture of hell.

Feeling no desire to bask in the scene, I started to edge away when a sudden gush of heat enveloped my leg. With wide eyes, I stared at the fire as it crawled up my leg.

In a sharp panic, I tried to move to a clear area to drop and roll; however, Dr. Crane yanked me against the wall and patted down my leg with something I was unable to identify. Coughing on the acrid smoke as the fire grew, I reminded myself that the sudden blaze wouldn't remain minor for long. After all, there was an abundance of chemicals around.

Suddenly, the sprinklers flickered on, drenching the hallway and its occupants in chilling water as it vainly fought to douse the roaring fire.

The water wouldn't help...not in a fire of this size.

As if reading my mind, Dr. Crane roughly dragged me away from the fire, heading toward the door which we entered. At this point, a can of chemicals exploded loudly which drenched the hallway in a inferno of fire.

Before the flames could crawl toward us he pushed me into the room where I fell harshly on the floor jarring my arm as he tightly sealed us inside the room. Another explosion sounded from the enclosed hallway as I called out, "Did you think it wise to run into a room full of chemicals?! When the fire gets here—!"

I yelped as he picked me up and shoved me against a bare counter top.

He was panting hard, his face red from the heat and exertion; his hair was we from both sweat and water as it fell into his chilling blue eyes which were almost hidden by the water streaked glasses.

"The fire won't be spreading any further. This room is not only fire proof but also sound proof. Everyone who works here knows most of these rooms were used for illegal experiments by the founder of Arkham himself. They're closed down and off limits no matter what jurisdiction the state has."

He dragged me to a high backed chair and sat me down none too gently, "Now Revis, I believe the asylum's staff will be on leave for a day or so and the security will be spread too loosely to guard such a dangerous loon as you. While I notify the head of security that I've moved you to another cell in solitary, you'll remain here."

While I was tired, hot, and in tremendous pain...he scared me.

It was in the dark way he spoke as I knew _very_ well he held the authority to do just as he said. Even the way he leaned over me, hatred and a sick excitement pouring off him, made his words a very scary reality. I—What could I do?

In turn, he must have seen the terror rolling off me in waves because he smiled darkly as he smoothed out his shirt (when had he taken off his suit coat?—Or had he used it to put out the fire on my leg?) and filled a syringe with a strange liquid before nearing me as I waited, paralyzed by anxiety and exhaustion.

"This is just something to keep you awake—After all, you've inhaled some of my narcotic drug."

He first took off my crooked glasses in order to place them on the counter behind me, before he injected me with the needle—Instantly, my heart pounded as I felt a sweet rush.

"I suppose you should enjoy that, it's the only pleasurable feeling you'll experience while you're in this room. I've been working on my 'medicine', if you will, for a very long time and today I'd like to introduce them to you."

I sucked in a rough breath and tried to calm myself but my mind wouldn't focus over the pounding of my heart and the shaky, almost itchy feeling throughout my body. I pulled against the duct tape but only succeeded in straining my elbows as well as twisting the tape painfully around my wrists.

Dammit! There was no escape: behind one door lied fire and no doubt a sudden influx of guards as word of fire spread via alarm while the other required doors I would take too much time getting to.

I glanced at Dr. Crane who walked around the table while cleaning his glasses. He then loosened his tie and ran a hand through his damp hair as if contemplating where to begin.

While he was distracted I tried to think how exactly to time my escape.

"Oh and don't try to run just yet, I haven't finished restraining you," he spoke without turning around.

Shaking badly at the change of events, I tried to stand silently but ended up stumbling and letting the metal contraption crash to the ground.

The sudden flare of noise echoed in the silent room as I leaned against the counter frozen with fear and well fear, mind numbing, soul wrenching, entirely consuming, fear.

Dr. Crane's eyes were deathly serious as they flickered over me assessing the situation.

He exhaled tightly then swiftly neared me in order to wrench me up harshly along with the chair which he none too gently pushed me into.

Despite my instincts to flee, I was too overcome by panic to try to fight him as he looped buckling leather restraints around my ankles, waist, then my neck and forehead.

Up until this point I thought the chair was merely an odd piece of furniture but now I realized there were slots in the chair made for those restraints—

What was this?

"Don't you recognize this devise, Revis? It's a metal adaption to Dr. Rush's tranquilizer chair."

I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion as he paused, "Oh? Well since you seem uneducated in _some_ manners of treatment toward the insane, let me elaborate. Dr. Rush was one of the founders for American Psychiatry who often endorsed abuse to his patients. In the original chair, the patient would be tightly restrained as a box like figure surrounded their head to 'correctly control' the blood flow with varying levels of pressure—a treatment which was thought to cure insanity. While the notion is interesting I merely keep a modern adaption for my own purposes."

I began to panic more as I struggled with both the duct tape and the leather bindings but found any efforts to be futile. I whimpered and stared at him completely and utterly terrified.

He chuckled darkly, "Yes Revis, you should fear me."


	24. Chapter 22: Trust

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to say thank you and WOW to all you amazing readers and reviewers! I'm completely floored by the immense number of you following my humble yet demented story-Not to mention the many wonderful comments! Thank you everyone!**

**Next I would like to apologize over this short chapter-the next one is short as well but Chapter 24 is a very...intense (and long) chapter that may be the most disturbing so far. Please be patient, the wait will be worthwhile. **

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 22<strong>

I was beyond pain, beyond feeling anything other than exhaustion and even that was a short stroll from becoming apathy.

Once more, I tiredly sagged in my bonds and stared dully at the odd space between the floor and table. I tried to support my eyelids for awhile longer as to avoid yet _another_ shot of what must have been liquid adrenaline.

Every time I passed out from the fear, the exertion, there would only be a brief moment of unconsciousness before I was forced into reality on a sick rush...

Speaking of rushes, the last one left me completely flagged and yearning for relief.

No more...

The words I would never speak to him, never beg for, rang in my head over and over so my already tear stained cheeks became wet with more sorrows.

"Tired already, Revis?" that horrid voice called out, raspy and squeaky all at once.

Damn, I had thought the drug would have worn off by now but it seems there were still some lingering effects.

I shuddered but only numbly spoke in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper, "Would it matter?"

I felt the familiar sting of the needle in my neck and winced as I berated myself for not noticing how close he had been standing to me.

"Yes, it does matter. Whether you are tired or not dictates the amount of poison to course through your system."

I was too tired to roll my eyes and in a way I was grateful. After countless hours, what seemed to be _years,_ locked in this damned chair with every answer earning me some 'punishment' or another I was far from ready to provoke him.

"Did you consider that I might develop an immunity or some level of tolerance?"

The liquid was pushed into my system slowly, sadistically, before he removed the syringe, "An immunity to fear? Not likely."

I resisted the urge to scream.

Hands...Hands everywhere. Touching me, clawing at my skin, pulling on my hair, pleading, pleasuring, hating, hurting, suffocating...

I kept my eyes open but unfocused to give the illusion of seeing hallucinations while I was merely trying to blur the nightmarish scene around me.

The demented water, dark, murky water which poured over everything—Everything?

Where was anything?

The rock, surely there was some rock, some anchoring factor to reality?

Yet the water seemed to pour out, cling to, churn, and rise into mist whenever it wished.

Where was I? What was happening?

No...focus, this was just a hallucination.

I kept myself extremely tense, trying to build a mental barrier around the hands and remind myself that the water wasn't real just as the terrifying beast that neared me was also unreal. It had to be, I mean there was no way something so twisted out of shape, so sinister, could possibly exist...

Denial was harder to force on oneself when the ideals were actually the _truth_.

I fought once more the urge to recede into my mind. I didn't need another delusion to rule my mind or confuse me further.

After seemingly decades of sick and macabre sights, scenes, and sensations, I was hoping to cling to whatever sanity I possessed. Thankfully, the drug seemed to disperse although I was unable to unclench my muscles until the last drop of water disappeared along with the monster. I exhaled softly although it more of a sigh than anything else. Once more, I longed for death, for peace, for something other than this.

I just wanted it to end.

Dark green filth fell atop me, crushing my skin under the weight of the sulfur like sludge. I fought against my bindings but I remained fettered in place. I tried to breathe through the filth but the grey air seemed to condense—Oh no, there was no room to breathe, no air!

No, fight it—

The chair beneath me began to sharply tear at my skin.

False pain, it's not real—

I closed my eyes only to feel something slimy clamp down on my face. I recoiled from the touch, trying to escape it yet I happened to open my eyes to—

No!

I screamed and screamed, trying vainly to gather more air but I was drowning. I began to sob but the tears became weighted dragging into my skin.

My skin...was it melting? No, it was merely fading. I was becoming the empty space. Space...Relax, I was able to breathe—

Panic, they were here.

I opened my eyes and stared at the seemingly innocent lab knowing that any second they would be here—Wait who? There was no one there. I was trapped in this damned chair with that bastard Dr. Crane pulling the strings with his toxic 'medicine'.

I closed my eyes once more and waited for whatever would happen—

AHH! I felt as though there was a hook piercing my chin, blood was dripping down I was losing blood—No, I was losing my mind.

I took a deep breath to prepare myself as I heard a voice which sounded like glass breaking over my skin, "Open your eyes."

Steeling my nerve I opened my eyes to stare directly into what I thought was his eyes as I said firmly, "Stop."

That's all I was able to say when I faced with my own reflection—No not me...Elocin.

My 'past life' stood before in the flesh, taller than me by an inch or so, straight hair down to her waist, eyes cruel and cocky, smile sinister, dressed in her usual uniform composed of dark, outlandish clothes and hidden blades—although the ragged wounds were new.

I swallowed but continued to look into her eyes unflinchingly even as she smiled and backed away a bit which was when I realized she wasn't injured...She was covered in gore.

I didn't care to know from what or how but the carnage which smeared her face and fell off her clothes reeked.

She neared me and then I began to hear the whispers. Slowly growing in volume, the voices sang in haunting tones, "Traitor...imposter...liar...thief...trickster...fake..."

She held up a sharp blade.

"Sacrifice her!" the voices shouted in union as Elocin neared me and placed the dagger at my throat.

"Is this what you want?" she asked in that sweet but dangerous voice.

I didn't bother licking my cracked, bleeding lips instead I nodded.

She moved as blood splattered—Dr. Crane withdrew from me holding an empty syringe, presumably one that administrated the antidote to me.

I didn't sigh in relief, beg for mercy, or curse at him...I merely stared.

He strolled up to me leisurely, "How interesting, it seems despite your now appropriate reactions you have found a way to overcome the fears which proceeded past your usual defenses."

I warred with myself. Should I demand an end or wait for his motives to become clearer?

He began to unstrap my bonds, including my duct taped arms and for a moment I wondered if he merely gave me another poison for surely this was a delusion as well.

I slumped forward, unable to hold up my own weight let alone feel my arms aside from the numbing pain, but he caught me easily enough and gently spoke—No, gently wasn't the word. His voice was cold and precise, yet lowered so the edge was almost hidden by the husky whisper, "Do you trust me?"

Trust him? Trust him?!

If I wasn't so worn out I would have laughed, cried, screamed, and attacked all at once but I was unable to move as if there was some force binding my limbs even as blood rushed to my pained arms.

"Revis?"

"Why is my trust so important..." my words were slower and slightly slurred making my question a tired statement.

He pulled back far enough, allowing me to slump against the chair to regain my strength, "I've protected you from those who harmed you. I've given you no reason to mistrust me. In fact, this was only to punish you for your misdeeds: attacking both staff and inmates alike, killing within the asylum, acting out in attempts to escape, drawing unnecessary attention to yourself, the list goes on and on."

"Punishment...?" there might have been a slight emphasis on the single word spoken in monotone but I was hardly worried on whether or not he followed my meaning.

"Yes, if you hadn't harmed so many, including yourself, I wouldn't have done any of this. Yet you've received your punishment and now I hope you've learned a lesson."

A lesson? What was he talking about? I was tired, more than that...I was exhausted, worn out, overworked, depraved of any energy, lacking any strength...I was finished.

He continued, "So Revis, do you trust me?"

I eyed him warily or at least as warily as I was able to; blinking seemed to be a challenge at this point, "I don't like you..." I paused to take another breath and continued with more life, "You've done nothing for me but twist situations to suit your own needs."

He peered at me in a pitiful, almost disdainful way, "Why would you think that? I've been helping you this entire time, teaching you, guiding you, keeping you safe."

I shook my head and weakly struggled to push myself up but failed so instead I replied, "N-No, you're lying."

"Am I?" he asked, nonplussed as I warred with myself.

Part of me longed to believe him...but I knew—

"You need a protector, someone to guide you in life, someone to keep you safe as I have someone to lend all the responsibility to. I am that person, Revis. You need only to accept it."

I cried softly, "You're lying, I-I don't need you. I—"

"Yes you do, Revis. You've been longing for that release of pressure, someone to take your burden from you. You long to live untroubled by matters such as I have dealt with. You yearn to live free from the past but you're unable to take that step without someone else to help as I have—"

"Stop!" I pressed my hands to my ears with strength I hadn't known I possessed.

His hands firmly pulled mine down as he kept the contact between us.

I felt his cloying energy seep out as he spoke, "Let me take the hurt away, allow me to help you."

I fought against him even when he caught my wrists and I ended up slumped against his shoulder.

"W-Why?" I sobbed with dry tears, too broken to fight him anymore.

He leaned in closer to me and whispered in my ear as he released my wrists to stroke my hair, soothing me deeply.

I felt like crying again but this time for joy and disbelief: no one's done that in years...

"Shh, just let go. Don't question it. I am here for you. I've protected you. I'll keep you safe."

I was falling into him deeply but I still clung to my rationality, "N-No, you're wrong."

My voice sounded weak to even myself but he didn't seem to mind instead he continued to stroke my greasy hair, "Trust me, Revis..."

I mumbled, "I can't..."

He pulled away enough to look into my eyes. His eyes intently focused on me, "Why not?"

My lower lip trembled and I started to shake again, "I-I. You—"

"Revis..." he lifted my chin, "You're safe with me."

I dared to hope, "Really?"

He nodded and seemed happier yet somehow retained his intense gaze, "Yes Revis, I'll protect you from everything...Do you trust me?"

I swallowed and looked down but he pulled my face up again so I was forced to look into his chilling eyes, "Revis, do you trust me?"

I nodded, "Y-Yes," I then clung to his suit and hid my head in between the crook of his shoulder as I cried for the relief and pain...sorrow and uncertainty...but most of all I cried for the hope.


	25. Chapter 23: According to Plan

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to apologize for the late update but my Megamind and I spent four wonderful days on a long sleepover. Many plot ideas were made and general craziness occurred but niether Megamind or I have internet at our respective houses due to financial issues and so to update I generally rely upon libraries or public wifi within supermarkets. Yet as a consolation for all you devoted readers and reviewers I am updating TWO chapters today. This chapter is short but necessary and the next chapter is long and VERY disturbing. **

**Next I would like to thank you all for the amazing feedback I recieved. You all are wonderful readers who deserve an extra treat from time to time! Speaking of which, if you are interested I have posted a fanart (created in April of this year by my wonderful Megamind) of Revis on my Deviantart (Scarecrowxrevis13) and two pictures of myself and my girlfriend cosplaying Dr. Crane and Revis. **

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 23 Dr. Crane POV<strong>

Finally, everything was falling into place.

The sequence of events suited my interests better than I had ever thought possible. I had finally dug my way into Revis' mind. She believed I was actually there to _save_ her.

How pathetically childish...

In a way, I missed the cold mentality she used to fight against me but this new dependency was appealing in a greater sense. Her resilience to my fear toxins (usually enabled once she either found something amusing or felt a morbid curiosity) didn't last past the third hour of experimenting but even as she suffered in hysteria and delirium she found ways to recover even if it was something as minor as a shift in her weight, I noticed she was able to bounce back—although the efforts became strained as the hours past. Almost twenty hours later, I thought it was time to make my move. After all, I didn't want her to fall ill or die from an influx of negative stimuli to her brain.

Now she believed I was there to help her, to assist her in her pathetic life...

How sickeningly amusing.

After crying on my shoulder (somehow she seemed to fall in the habit of constantly mistaking me for a tissue) she passed out but I let her rest while I gave orders to move her to her original cell once I moved to less _suspicious_ whereabouts and destroyed the surveillance tapes while doctoring others to replace it. Such acts were a second nature by now.

Now the only thing left was to see how far I would be able to push Revis. I was unable to tell to what extent she would associate my company with ideals such as safety, comfort, and stability but in the end she would have no doubts just as I would have full control. In a way, I was losing a source of challenge, of amusement, just as my recent actions contradicted my earlier wishes.

At first, the appeal of another individual who, while still inferior to myself, possessed a strong wit and sharp mind inspired me to seek out, degrade, then conquer her. Yet now that she was in my asylum, causing such a stir within the facility, and proved to have a minor resilience toward my toxins, I figured a sort of change was in order.

She was already degraded, spoiled, when she arrived. There was no fresh mind to challenge and overturn, merely a repressed side of her psyche which possessed much fear and anger. The former pulled me closer while the latter forced me into uncomfortable and _unnecessary_ situations.

Yet today's progress was greatly noted and appreciated. Now tomorrow's 'procedure' will be 'suspended' on account of her health.

In actuality, I hadn't even planned on following through on my word. The unspoken threat, impending dread, allusions to the treatment, and other factors provided a stronger _fear_ into her. Yet there was no sense in beating a dead horse. However, I would need to find a suitable way to excuse the option of any procedures without her suspicion.

Perhaps if she proved to depend on me entirely, even if she asked to forgo the treatment, I would agree and her faith in me would grow. Yet if she still held onto some doubt, some minor mistrust, then I may have to find another way to steal her trust. Either way, I wouldn't be able to rush her or all my efforts would be laid to waste.

Eventually, I may twist her trust into something greater. I would find a way to allow me to further experiment with her consent. I wanted to turn her morals, her beliefs, her desires, inside out and backward. In the end, I would completely break her mind but to do so, I would need to map out its contours.

While I was not impatient, the time and effort needed to focus on a single test subject, well technically a 'project', was too _tedious_ of a task for my talents in the light of my greater goal. So instead, I would map out her psyche, twist her mind until _I_ knew her mentality for I would have shaped it.

After testing out my experimental fear gases, serums, and other tactics on her I was practically upon the discovery of the ultimate fear toxin. In fact, I was sure I was only a few hard hours of work away from finding the correct formula to break someone's mind.

After that, there were a few experiments I may indulge in such as a permanent, although not totally devastating, toxin which would last as long as the target lived or perhaps a fatal dose of my toxin which would literally scare the target to death. Once I perfected these tools and others, I would use these means to eventually extract my revenge...

Although, the exact zenith of my glorious revenge would extend to, even the exact procedure I would use to reach my triumph were unsure, I knew Revis was an essential stepping stone to furthering my knowledge, my power.

Perhaps she wasn't entirely incompetent, merely foolishly hopeful despite her greatest attempts to create a barrier between others and herself. Yet it was through that fault, her fatal weakness which paradoxically lied in the hands of humanity who she swore to punish and detest, that I was able to burrow my way inside.

The idea was humorous for I was, despite my greatest efforts, always seen as separate from the rest of humanity yet _I_ was the one to burrow into her mind and temporarily mend the wounds she was dealt. Nevermind the fact that I would also be the one to shatter her mind, let alone discard her entirely in sake of my revenge, for now I would be her 'savior'.

I smiled to myself...

Yes, things were indeed going according to plan.


	26. Chapter 24: Snow

**Ello! Minion here! As I mentioned last chapter this is a continuation of this week's update. I'm not sure if I will be updating on the twentyfourth due to a cosplay party atop of school (my semester is starting soon) so we'll see what happens.**

**Alrighty-Normally I would thank all you readers and reviewers (once more THANK YOU!) but seeing as this is part of an update I'll skip over that part for a well deserving warning-Yes, WARNING. **

**This chapter contains explict and disturbing content. There are exerpts of my fictious story "Our Dark Love" (from my penname: Minion Fish) on Fictionpress within this chapter because I feel that the events covered in both stories are similiar enough to merge seeing as Lucius and the unnamed man in the other story are based off of the same man. **

**"Our Dark Love" was written as a symbol of violation with graphic content and disturbing themes, the exerpts I use are modified into first person and slightly edited for the use of this story but are for the most part the same. If any of you wish to read the original piece feel free. The events within this chapter concerning the explict content is NOT based off of a personal experience and furthermore any explict content used within the story (although there won't be any for a LOOOONG time) is equally fictious.**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 24 Revis POV<strong>

On certain mornings, what seemed a lifetime ago, I opened my eyes from slumber only to wish I had never regained consciousness. This was one such occasion.

I took the brief moment of confusion to study my surroundings in what must have been, due to the silence and unbelievably bright lights, a cell in solitary confinement.

Everything seemed the same...Yet how did I get here?

I tried to stand despite the screaming pains throughout my body. Wincing as my arms strained, I tried to gain leverage against gravity. Taking a deep breath, I then looked at my shaking arms as I was seated on the soft floor. Momentarily faltering, I held my head which throbbed uncertainly in time with my sore body.

No, I had to get up.

I took a deep breath before suddenly leaping up to my feet and drunkenly staggering against the wall to the mirror. My throat burned and I knew I needed to get some water from the facet.

I looked into the mirror tiredly as my hands shakily grasped the thick plastic of the 'sink'. My eyes (without glasses, I noted yet felt no desire to figure out why) were bloodshot with dark bags underneath while my skin looked painfully pale compared to my disastrous hair. Leaning forward to turn the knob, I gasped and pulled back to further study my neck in the reflective yet shatterproof mirror.

No! That can't be!

I looked in horror at the fading marks along one side of my neck—

Damn him...

While I was generally confined to my cell, I found it hard to believe so many would overlook the hickeys dotting my throat.

I traced them with wide eyes; hopefully they would fade before I met with Dr. Crane. I didn't need him to gloat and taunt me further—

I slammed my hand against the mirror as I kicked the wall and panted over the sink. Laughing or was it sobbing(?) brokenly I held my hair tightly, shaking my head.

I exhaled roughly then turned on the facet and splashed water onto my face. Only lingering long enough to take a small sip, I turned off the facet and straightened out my sore back to meet a slightly flushed but equally pathetic face.

Water trailed down my mouth yet when I wiped it away a drop fell to my neck. I rubbed that too but hissed as the area just below the droplet stung. Cautiously, I pulled back my shirt then gasped at the bruising puncture holes which clustered just underneath the collar of my shirt.

Shakily, I unbuttoned my orange shirt yet pulling back two shirts seemed to be a challenge to my aching body so I merely took off the orange shirt, momentarily distracted by and hating how frail I looked in the lights with only the tight and blindingly white, longsleeved undershirt.

Before Arkham, I was at a healthy although not popular weight with wide hips, muscled thighs, hourglass waist, full bust, yet small shoulders at an average height. However, even though my figure paled in the smooth, straight, and seemingly frail body of most models, I prided myself with knowing I was stronger and unique.

Yet now my healthy body waned.

My shoulders remained slightly lowered as usual while my chest was almost painfully prominent against the tight shirt but my full hips pointed out sharply against the fabric. The mirror wasn't very long but I knew I had lost a lot of muscle within my legs and whatever muscle my arms once held was now gone.

I felt defenseless and pathetic like the damsel for some cliché story. My oval face was thinner just as everything about me seemed different...sharper, _colder_.

I lifted the edge of my shirt slightly to see the sharp hip bone sticking out from my skin. Lifting my shirt higher, I fingered my ribs which were closer to the surface than before. My once healthy waist with curves and strength was reduced to a smaller size that seemed weak and sickly.

I pulled down my shirt and hugged my sides, wishing I was able to retain the body I had. As irrational as it was, I couldn't help but think if I hadn't been poisoned by this place, their food, that medicine, then I would have taken a better stand against everyone.

At least, I knew there wasn't a prince to save me.

I never wanted to be a perfect Barbie or a defenseless princess. Instead I carried knives to protect me and I prided myself on my strong body for making my work and other moments of heavy lifting easy. I even used my trench coat to hide myself from everyone else while giving off an illusion of a threat. Yet all my safety measures, all my work to provide for myself, my own _body,_ had been turned against me.

I rubbed my hand against my chest as it ached then hissed as I felt the sore spot from before.

Oh, that's right.

Chiding myself for my moment of vanity, I pulled down the collar once more and frowned deeply at the marks.

What could have caused that? They looked worse than bites, almost like...

My eyes widened—

Were those needle markings? Where would I have—

Quickly, I scanned over the last few days then frowned as I was unable to recall anything. My headache grew but still I remained clueless. Was I—

I panted and backed myself against the wall.

The insulin shock therapy hadn't begun had it? Were those marks from the treatment? What was happening? Would I be going to electroconvulsive therapy next?

Wait...

I calmed my racing mind although my stomach continued to twist.

Why would the marks be hidden? Usually blood was drawn and shots administrated through the vein in my arm. I didn't understand—

Dr. Crane.

The shock felt like a physical blow as the memory rushed back.

He—

I—

Oh no...

My legs gave out but I didn't care as I awkwardly crumpled on the ground.

So much...

I tried to close my eyes against the horrors that began to play over in my mind but I felt too terrified to even move aside from the slow breathing.

My eyes unfocused yet I took the blurred moment to think it over.

He—He...Okay don't question it just think of the facts.

We fought, he...'experimented', and blank...

Wait, there was something else. He...Did he let me go in the end?

I frowned, trying to recall the memory when it came to me.

I was tired, the numbing pain oppressed my thoughts and made it increasingly difficult to understand him, but I remembered him trying to convince me of something. He wanted to...keep me safe?

My head ached but I continued to think.

Why would he keep me safe after he just tortured me? There's no way he'd think I'd allow him to justify his actions—

Well I did act out...

No...

I furrowed my eyebrows against the unhelpful thought.

_I _was unjustly brought to Arkham and treated horribly—

Only in retaliation to how I acted—

No! I was completely reasonable—

When has it ever been about reason? The 'reason' I'm in here is because of the ignorance the state used while deciding my 'punishment'.

Dr. Crane lied—

_Helped_—

What?!

I gripped my head against the bubbling thoughts that spewed up like oozing boils from some poisonous plague.

I needed to focus—

Dr. Crane helps me focus, those blue eyes...I mean he only wanted to help me—

I could help _myself_. I've _been_ helping myself—

And look what happened. Doesn't seem like it worked very well.

I exhaled angrily at the interrupting thoughts.

My skills of figuring out weaknesses and looking on both sides of the argument were being turned against me by myself. Damn my curiosity and fucking need to figure everything out.

I relaxed the grip on my head as I stared at the wall having a brief epiphany: intellectualizing.

"_Now Revis, why do you have to know everything?"_

It wasn't that I _needed _to know everything but I wanted control over—

_"Is it because you feel that you must control everything? That you must understand everything while allowing yourself to live in the belief you're safe?"_

I AM safe. I've kept myself safe. I didn't need anyone else. Although I didn't care for the hard nights, the doubt, the pain...

_"You don't have to feel that way anymore. You said you cared but I'm asking you to trust me."_

Trust him? Why in the world would I trust him—

He kept me safe.

I held my head again.

Great, now I was unwillingly arguing with myself while talking mentally as if the two sides of the argument were having their own conversation instead of flowing in one main stream of thoughts.

When I was younger the tactic amused me and I'd often argue on random topics, one point of view aloud and the other mentally, to both pass the time and feel not so lonely—

Damn was my life some sick pitiful story?

I **didn't**need him to help me out. Why would he think I would?

Sure I've had a crappy childhood which led to a disturbed couple of years in which I dabbled in a dangerous defense mechanism and accidentally met up with a crazed man—Only crazed because I made him that way—

Nevermind that, it was afterward that he killed Seth.

See, it wasn't too devastating. I mean, moving to Gotham—Living alone, my only company knives and books, becoming antisocial at work, suffocating within my own talent, doubting reality if I ever gave into the compulsion to understand my talent or my mind—

STOP!

I _wasn't_ a sob story and I _didn't _need to be rescued by some arrogant psychiatrist. So what people thought I was crazy, hell _I _thought I was crazy, but that didn't mean I needed any help.

I didn't like Dr. Crane from the day I met him.

He was too cold, something about him made me wary and later when I shook his hand the air around him seemed charged with a dangerous energy. Then not too long ago, I experienced firsthand not only what my patient and those other victims had felt but also just how dangerous he actually was.

Hmph, I doubted he had a justifiable excuse for what he did to them. Was he hoping to 'save' them too?

Nevermind that, I didn't care about his personal thoughts but I cared about myself. Why was I so important to him? Was I some amusing pastime? Why did he bother with me at all if I gave him so much trouble?

Not finding any answers yet feeling antsy, I stood painfully before picking up my orange shirt in order to button it up over my white, longsleeved undershirt.

Before the shirt was halfway buttoned I paused to pull back my white collar while I trying to ignore the almost faded marks on the opposite side of my neck, so as to bring to view the markings once more.

They contrasted horribly yet lovingly with my pale skin.

While beautiful scarlet marks of fresh cuts were mesmerizing the dark colours of a harsh bruise were equally breathtaking in a tragic way. I enjoyed the sight of my mutilated body. I loved the scars both thin and silvery or thick and rough against my skin. Each wound, a mark of honour, a medal of pain, seemed to bloom before my eyes.

But what of the scars I couldn't see?

Snarling, I hit the mirror once more then dragged my hands down and sobbed dryly.

Damn this, fuck it all! Was this a sick twist of fate? I hated the irony, it turned my stomach and brought bile to my throat.

Swallowing roughly although the bitter taste didn't abate, I noted the fucked up humor.

The almost nonexistent hickeys Lucius left paled in comparison with the vibrant imprint Dr. Crane left on me. The men behind each mark both rivaled each other in their efforts to hurt me—

No, Dr. Crane just wanted—

To what 'help' me? Would he 'help me' or 'love me' like Lucius did?

I turned and slammed my fists against the wall repeatedly before panting against it.

I wasn't some toy to be played with in the minds of cold psychos. I wasn't some damn princess needing a savior. I wasn't anyone's prize or pity project...

I fell to my knees once more as I kept my head against the wall, letting my hair fall into my face. I clenched my shaking fists while I glared at the floor hopelessly, feeling both an intense hatred and heartache.

If all that was true...then why did I feel helpless and long for Dr. Crane?

The door opened and I my head whipped up yet for a moment as my stomach dropped and my confused thoughts went blank—I wished I had never looked up.

I didn't believe my eyes as he neared me smiling darkly. I didn't believe my ears as he neared me, the 'safe' shoes squeaking slightly against the padded surface of the floor. I didn't even believe my senses as I felt the heat roll off him, his shadow fall over me, and a sick feeling radiate from his skin.

"Hello darling...I missed you."

I came to my sense and hopped up trying to think of either a way to buy time or fend him off but nothing came to mind. He took another step near me and my instincts took over.

I ripped off my orange shirt, scattering a few buttons then lunged for him as I tried to smother him. He first dodged but after I tripped on his foot, he steadied me which gave me time to turn and wrap the fabric around his head.

He flailed blindly before attacking me yet he still managed to push me against the wall and rid himself of my shirt.

He gave me a dark look which sent chills down my spine.

Many years ago, I would have seen his fury as a challenge, heard his growl as a sexy warning, and then provoked him to feel him pounce on me. I loved the raw passion, the anger he kept restrained, the feeling of fear and pleasure combined. Yet toward the end of our relationship there was no pleasure but only pain and fear. Just as there was a terrible ache within myself as he tore at my white, longsleeved undershirt causing me to gasp as the air met my skin.

He broke apart and stared deeply into my eyes for a moment as if to gauge my reaction before continuing. Pressing flush against me, I felt the heat rise off his body. No matter the way I struggled and tried to scream, he held a hand over my mouth as he easily restrained my weaker body.

"Shh...Darling, I'll protect you..."

He kissed along my throat then roughly pulled on my shirt, ripping the fabric once more. I vainly tried to hold it in place as a cry escaped from my trembling lips.

This wasn't happening. This wasn't real, it couldn't be.

As if to argue he shoved my arm away and reached for my slightly exposed breast, kneading the skin as I let out pained moan.

Damn him...that hurt—

Hell, _I_ hurt.

I felt my skin flush with panic as he slid me down the wall and straddled me.

NO! He wouldn't, he couldn't possibly—

He licked along my neck causing me to weaken my attempts at escape as a sort of disgusting lust rushed through me. I tried to fight once more but he continued down in between my breasts.

Suddenly, he pinched my nipple which caused me to gasp with indignation and shame. He smiled at me before lowering his mouth to the other. He rolled the unwillingly stiffened flesh with his tongue then gently nipped.

I panted, trying to control the panic, the fear, the helplessness, the humiliation as I clutched against his shirt, trying to push him away although he kept me firmly against the ground.

He raised himself over my mostly shredded shirt and looked at me smugly before frowning.

I kept my teeth clenched holding in the screams he'd misinterpret and the pleading he'd only recognize as some twisted role play.

Unable to meet his gaze, I squeezed my eyes tightly, letting tears leak out from the corners of my eyes. Shuddering breathes wracking through my body in spasms as his thoughts consumed me.

_Did she not see the pleasure I was granting her? Was she so blind to my selfless gift? So arrogant as to turn away from my generosity? Fine, if she wanted no pleasure then I would offer none._

He lowered himself back down then harshly bit the side of my breast. I felt the sharp, hot, _unwanted _pain and something, blood (?), sweat (?), run down the side.

_She was beautiful, so innocent looking, so sweet. I savored each gasp of breath and wild beat of her heart which I felt through my shirt._

He whispered lowly, "You'll be mine."

Before I could speak out, he tilted my chin and harshly claimed my lips with his.

_I'd will her into submission...wear away her will...In the end I'd gather my prize...stake my claim...take what is rightfully __**mine**__..._

He racked his nails down my sides as I writhed on the floor below him, trying desperately to free myself from him, to escape the sick feelings pouring off him, to hide from his dark intentions.

_She must pay her penance...suffer for her sins...repent to me. I'd keep her safe if only she'd let me but she was just stubborn. After all, she knew I was the only one for her. She swore herself to me._

I felt him reach down between us as he lifted himself up but quickly pushed his knees against my legs so I would be unable to move. Even so, I tried to turn over and pull myself away.

Obviously displeased, he growled and slammed me against the floor.

Disoriented, I barely felt him shuffle and groan. As I gathered my bearings, I looked over my shoulder as best as I was able to only to stare at him, horrified, as he stroked his hard erection. His eyes met mine as he languidly watched me, content to greedily take in the sight of me below him.

_Mine. Mine. Mine. I'd make her mine. She'd feel so _good_ around me. That tight heat, her loud screams—_

He shivered then abandoned his actions in order to press into me, twisting my arm beneath us as he cupped my breast and kissed along my throat as he half straddled me while I lay uncomfortably on my side, trying to turn into myself.

I needed help...Yet as much as I wanted to scream and yell for someone to save me I knew that would only anger him.

_She wouldn't escape me this time; the guards were easily enough taken care of. Their bodies shouldn't be discovered before I'm done._

_What a shame she was reduced to this: taunting me, playing with me in this place. She knew the temptations she offered, the alluring way she glanced around, the seductive sway of her hips, those plump lips begging to be bitten._

_Of course, she's changed, grown weaker, yet I loved her still. In fact, this weakness suited me well._

_Nngh, I needed to find relief soon._

I made a small squeak as he bit my neck before turning me onto my back and sloppily kissed down my stomach. While holding both my shoulder and hip down as I tried to buck him off—

_So eager, so ready...Damn I need to be inside her._

He paused as I felt a painful spear of panic shoot through my heart while he playful fingered the edge of my hip then dipped his hand lower _underneath _my pants and underwear.

_I feel like singing at the feeling the soft curls around her entrance._

I shook but was determined to keep my silence yet I was unprepared as he yanked pants down to my knees yet managed to keep my legs apart. Before I could so much as whimper, he shoved two fingers into me roughly—

_Finally a scream tore through her lips as I relentlessly pounded into her dry walls._

_Slowly, oh so slowly, she began to grow weaker as her colourful lifeblood began to seep from between her legs. She lay shaking as I continued my ministrations now easier with lubrication._

AHHHH! The pain!

I felt my eyes fill with tears as I felt myself fall into my mind yet I remained an unwilling witness to his thoughts and by default my current situation.

_Glancing up once more, I saw her dead gaze staring through teary eyes meet mine in a silent plea. Yet I only smiled, blew a kiss, and aligned myself before her. Without warning, I entered her eliciting another hoarse scream._

_I neither waited for her to prepare herself or catch her breath before I began thrusting into the tight—oh God, was she tight—heat._

_Sliding in deeper with each thrust, I groaned in contentment. I wound my fingers in her hair, forcing her to look into my eyes as I made sweet love to her. Any attempts of rebellion died as I released her head and let it fall to the floor with a satisfying thud._

_Angling myself to ensure maximum pleasure, I gripped her hips digging in my nails._

_Her terrified whimpers accented my grunts and soon I felt a familiar tightening heat stir within my stomach and knew I was close to release._

_Smiling down at her lifeless form, jerking against the floor with each thrust, I was sent over the edge and filled her bloodied insides with my seed._

_Pulling out, I cleaned myself on her abandoned orange shirt. Curiously I peered at her lying form, emitting deliciously bright blood and covered in a light sheen of sweat which glistened with each quivering breath—_

_Shit, what was that noise?_

_Damn, if there was a guard out—_

Suddenly all contact broke so I could only assume he was no longer touching me. I couldn't tell otherwise, my body ached and I felt disgustingly _wet_ between my legs although I knew it was merely blood and semen...

I closed my eyes gently, trying to will the world away.

My head felt suspended from my body and with each beat of my shaking heart I grew colder. Despite all that had—Despite my pain, I couldn't help but feel cheated...

He told me he'd protect me—

I hissed as my body was moved. Was it—

"Shit, Revis you okay?" the slightly squeaky voice spoke.

Disappointment tore my heart open although I weakly chided myself for thinking about him right now—

No, I didn't want to think now—

"Revis, can you hear me? You remember me don't cha', I'm Ernest. Come on, Revis, please say something."

I felt something cover me but the temperature didn't change. I wasn't here so it didn't matter if it was hot or cold. I was already halfway gone so why couldn't my body just fade away too?

"Shit, I should I have been there. You told me an' I failed you. Revis, please talk to me."

More noise, more voices which felt like hooks; I didn't like the way they pulled against my skin, tearing into my peace, breaking my silence, shattering my mind.

Air, I felt like I was floating then I was being tethered down again.

"Revis, we're taking you to the infirmary, okay? I'll stay 'ere the whole time, k?"

The lights flickered in and out but remained light; there was no grey only white...

I hated white.

I was cold and there was white but it wasn't snow. Snow was alright...Snow was cold, in the shade it looked blue. I liked the snow...but this wasn't snow. It was white—

The whites of his eyes, the white of his teeth, the white of his promise...

He meant it. He thought it was right, pure, like the snow...No, not the snow, like white. White was bad, white was pain, and while he was dark, his mind was white, bleached by—by what?

Was I the darkness? So pale yet tainted. Were we the chessboard or the chess pieces?

Hadn't I already been taken—

No...No more white, just snow. I want the snow.

"Snow? What'ja mean by that, Revis?"

No more...I just want the snow.

The room tilted and the white became dark then bright. More hooks, barbed voices, cut through the air. Pain, hot flashes of white, stained my mind. Time blurred—

Come to think of it, a clock was white and black.

Were we paired together forever?

I hated white...

People thought white was blank, serene, but I knew differently. White obliterated all the other colours.

The clock could be so much without the greedy white consuming it. Think of the life, the secrets waiting behind the white choked world. Too much white...

I let the thoughts melt away to picture a peaceful forest with snow falling. The sky seeming to glow purple in the still light (although not bright) night, the smooth air puffing out with each breath a small fox took. There was the soft crunch of snow as the wind howled, forcing the small branch of a tree to rub against the ground. The chilling cold saturating everything...Such beautiful snow.

"Is she going to be alright? I mean she ain't moving"

"Officer Greene, it's been three hours and while she's been treated there's nothing else we can do."

"What about Dr. Crane, hasn't he heard—"

Dr. Crane?

The snow became blurred as the wind shook the trees once more—

No, think of the snow: the ice hanging off the trees, the bluish shadows cast by the snow as it filtered through the tall branches.

"He left work after the board meeting. While he'll be notified, his patient isn't in any immediate danger—"

"With all due respect, Miss, she was just..._violated_ and you're saying that she's not in any danger?"

There was a flash of red—blood!—No, not blood just a leaf frosted over from fall but too stubborn to release its tight hold on the branch.

Think of the snow: snow so sweet it seemed edible but the very thought of disturbing the still scene forced me to keep myself hidden. Look at the pale crystals falling silently, only the distant wind to document this wondrous time.

"She'll be needing her rest and while your efforts are admirable, you're needed elsewhere—"

"Five minutes alone...Please Miss, just five minutes."

There was a scratch as the barbed voice exhaled, "Fine, but only five."

"Yes Miss. Thank you very much!"

The hook fell away and I thought back to the snow.

Think of the cave: frosted yet reflecting ice shining with its slightly melted texture that remained too blurred to look into clearly. Concentrate on the way the snow seemed piled around the back of the cave, aside from a fine dusting the mostly hidden recesses remained barren. The wind must have blown the snow further into—

"Revis, I gotta know one thing. Can you hear me?"

The snow stopped falling.

"Just give me a sign, don't talk, don't try to do nothing you don't want to, just give me a small sign."

The wind stirred the branches, the ice began to melt faster.

"_Please _Revis, just one sign."

I clenched the bedding—Was it bedding? It looked white from my blurred eyes— White like snow.

A beautiful snowy landscape—

"Thanks Revis," the goofy voice lowered slightly, "I want you to know this, I'm on your side. I have been since the start. I heard about you in that investigation, I'm a part of it too."

The scene was fogged—How troublesome, I was trying to see the snow...

"Revis, I'm here for you. I want you to testify but I know you pry shouldn't considering what just happened. You can tell me anything, okay?"

I couldn't see...It wasn't the snow. It was—

"Remember I'm here if you need something, okay Revis?"

"Officer Greene, your five minutes are up," the barbed voice fogged up my mind.

"Okay Miss, thank you once more."

Shuffling scratches were made as the barbed voice moved around ushering out the goofy voice although I didn't hear any more hooked noises.

Think of a round pond: frozen over and lightly dusted with powdered snow...


	27. Chapter 25: Mr Lucius Grey

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank you for all the wonderful reviewers and readers who have enjoyed the story so far! You all are amazing!**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 25<strong>

…Two Days Later...

"How's she doing, Miss?"

"Officer Greene, you've come by the infirmary every day. What do you expect to happen? She's gone through a great trauma, she needs her rest."

"Okay Miss, I'll be back tomorrow."

...Four Days Later...

"So, she's going to be released today?"

"Well we can't keep her here. Her body's been healed and I trust Dr. Crane will see to the rest."

"Has he come back yet? I don't feel right about letting her just lay there alone..."

"Officer Greene, Dr. Crane is a busy man—"

"Are you saying he can't be bothered to help out someone who's been—"

"Shh, for her sake don't talk about it. We know she can hear us whether or not she wants to acknowledge it. As for your question, Dr. Crane will see to her on her next session. Now Officer, I need to tend to the other patients."

...The Next Day...

"Revis, hang in there will ya?"

I closed my eyes against the noise that came from outside my cell in solitary confinement; I had been given my mysteriously disappearing glasses upon my return, yet I found no joy in the matter.

For a week I rested in snow...for a week the barbed noises clattered around while Ernest tried to talk to me. Why did he care—

Dr. Crane was supposed to care...

I wanted to cry, to complain, to demand an answer but I couldn't. I was scared...not the fear of pain, not the uncertainty, but just scared.

I felt pathetically alone and defenseless. I wanted to call out to someone—_to Dr. Crane_—and have someone—_him_— hold me yet paradoxically I never wanted someone to touch me again.

I felt so weak...

I wanted it all to go away but I had to kill this dependency first.

I _didn't _need to be saved—

Yes, I did.

I _wouldn't_ call out to anyone—

Because I knew no one would come—

Instead, I _will_ leave Arkham by my own hand.

That's it, take the anger. Don't melt the snow but burn the white; leave it blackened and curled.

There would be no misplaced tranquility, no lying peace, no obliterating pain. I would darken it all.

I had information against Dr. Crane, I had someone to listen too—Unless they were monitoring me.

I didn't risk a glance to the ceiling in fear that at any sign of suspicion, fear, or hatred someone would come in a whisk me away—

No. No more submission. No more 'good behavior'. No more mind games...

I _will_ be leaving Arkham.

I felt lost; there was a sea within myself. It tossed the fear, churned the desire for freedom, crashed down on the submission, reached up to the hatred, spun my memories around, distorted my thoughts until I was almost broken...

No, I needed to leave_ now._

"Hey Revis, it's time for your session. Do you wanna walk or do you want Dr. Crane to come here?"

I didn't look up at Ernest just as I didn't speak out for fear of the cameras watching.

"You okay Revis? I know it's a stupid question but you haven't been moving..."

I shakily stood, thankful that he didn't try to help me—I would probably lose all composure if he did. Even so, I kept my face hidden as I tried to figure out my plan of action.

I needed out. Ernest was my key out. Yet I also needed to find a way to tell him what I knew without the camera's picking recording it.

We began walking yet I was numb to everything but my thudding heart. The panic I felt, walking around _people_: people with desires, ambitions, lusts, thoughts, actions—

No!

I missed the dead.

I didn't care if I only saw their death from their body and never again used my talent but I wanted to cold solitude; I wanted my personal peace; I wanted out.

"Come on Revis, we're here. I don' wanna startle you but—"

The air shifted as the door opened and I saw black dress shoes before I heard his soothing voice, "Thank you Officer Greene, I'll take it from here."

"Oh, er, yes sir!"

Ernest left quickly under what must have been Dr. Crane's disapproving stare but I didn't bother lifting my head to check.

I saw the feet move aside so I walked past him into the room in order to quickly take a seat on the floor, my back against the couch with my knees pulled up so my arms were able to hold myself together.

I heard him leisurely walk back before standing off to my right yet I kept my head down fighting the urge to both leap in his arms and disappear from his sight.

I would be leaving him if I left Arkham...

No, my freedom was more important—Since when was Dr. Crane important to me?

I didn't even know his full name let alone his intentions—to protect me—

No.

His 'intentions' failed. I couldn't trust him—

Then why did my heart ache with the pain of betrayal and loss?

"Revis?" he questioned and kneeled down.

So close...

No, he was out of my reach.

"Revis?" he said once more as he leaned forward slightly—

Ah, fuck it.

I lunged at him and tightly held him within my arms.

Thankfully, my eyes were dry but I refused to let go. I rested my head against the curve of his shoulder and neck as my arms wrapped around his back.

At first, I took him by surprise but he gently placed his hands on my back and allowed me to hug him.

I wouldn't release him and discard this warmth...this security...this healing touch.

"Y-You weren't there..." I whispered sadly as I clutched him tighter.

He inhaled before replying, "I know...Revis, I understand what you must be feeling," liar, if he knew my thoughts of rebellion he would probably tie me up and experiment on me again—Who would protect me if I left? "but understand there was nothing I could do. I wasn't even at Arkham at the time. However, I have a gift for you."

He tried to rise but I shook my head and pulled him down so he remained kneeling.

"Revis..." he said gently although I heard the warning.

I paused before releasing him. Sitting on my legs awkwardly, letting my arms hang loosely, I dreaded his reaction as I felt another addicting slash of pain through my heart—

Why, I hadn't felt this heartache for years. Each shooting pain of hurt and fear struck me breathless but kept me longing for more.

I wanted to feel, to be saved, I wanted him...

He firmly grabbed my arms and pulled me up.

Despite my efforts to not flinch at his touch, I shied away from him as the memory of—

No, I wouldn't go there.

I leaned toward him but didn't fall against him as I waited for him to either punish me or push me away. Instead, he gently placed his arm around mine and steered me out the door. While in the hallways my paranoia and panic returned, I merely leaned into him as if he would shield me from everyone else. As we walked, I didn't pay much mind to where we were going for I was more focused on avoiding the breathing populace of Arkham but as the noise and energy decayed, I noticed we were just outside the Medical Wing.

Once more we ducked down the tape and entered the hallway which led to his secret lab.

Unwillingly, chills broke out on my arms and I shook my head trying to silently beg for mercy.

He said nothing but thankfully lead me past that damned chair and once more opened the door to those strange crazed inmates he had experimented on.

I kept my eyes adverted, half expecting to feel the heat of the fire against my skin as its toxic smoke choked my lungs, but when he stopped I hesitantly looked up seeing only his light blue eyes staring intently at me.

"Do you like you're present, Revis?" he asked in a somewhat cocky manner.

Curious I slid my eyes to the cell in front of—

My shock must have shown on my face for he squeezed my shoulders, "You see Revis, I'll always protect you."

My breathing was erratic as I met the glare of _him_.

"W-What," my breathing hitched but before I could continue Dr. Crane interrupted.

"I apologize for the shock but I thought if you were to witness your gift first hand you would understand what I have been trying to tell you."

He made to leave but I clutched at his suit even though my eyes were glued to _him_.

Dr. Crane gently turned my head so I looked into his icy blue eyes, "Trust me, Revis."

I swallowed then nodded as he detached himself and then entered the observatory cell in which _he _was contained. Indeed Lucius was restrained in a straightjacket but even past the protective measures he still held an air of arrogance and hatred.

For a moment, Dr. Crane stood with a blank expression before he pressed a button on the wall allowing me to hear their breathing.

"I'll kill you—How dare you touch her!" Lucius yelled, his face seemingly contorting into a mask of anger and darkness.

I flinched, unable to control my shaking as I watched the scene play out.

Dr. Crane was unfazed as he brought forth a suitcase (how did I overlook that?) and placed it over the metal table filled with random medical utensils the staff must use to give regular checkups on the less responsive or out of control patients, "Hello Mr. Grey, for today's session we're going to be trying something new."

"Fuck you, get out."

Dr. Crane sighed then removed his glasses to place them in his coat pocket. He licked his lips before he asked, "Would you like to see my mask? I find it a useful technique when dealing with _undesirable_ crazies."

He opened his briefcase as he smiled fleetingly before pulling out a piece of burlap—

Wait, hadn't I seen that before?

Dr. Crane held up the poorly stitched mask to display it to Lucius who frowned but he spoke before Lucius could interrupt, "While it may not seem like much, I find it very _effective_ to scare the nutters into submission."

Lucius spoke up sarcastically as Dr. Crane donned the mask, "What, you expect me to be afraid of a piece of fabric?"

Dr. Crane shot out his arm forward and puff of white yellow gas flew into Lucius' face.

While I watched with tremors and blooming dread, Lucius began panting and looking around with wide eyes before he focused on Dr. Crane who towered over him. I swallowed as he began screaming, tears rolling down his agonized face.

"Tell me, Mr. Grey, are you _afraid_?"

I watched: half amused half horrified at the scene.

That gas...

Was it the same as the drugs he tested on me and those other inmates?

That mask...

What—What was he?

Lucius continued to scream as he curled up in a ball on the corner of his cot, terror consuming every breath.

As Dr. Crane neared him, Lucius clutched uselessly at his arms and began clawing himself as he started to hyperventilate, "W-What are y-you?!"

I was unable to see Dr. Crane's expression but he seemed to be enjoying himself as he lunged toward him yelling, "Scarecrow!"

Lucius lost all semblance of sanity as he screamed into the bed, shaking, his skin flushed, sweat rolling over his face. I saw the lower half of his uniform darken and could only assume he lost control of his bladder.

How disturbing and pleasurable it was to watch him become a sniveling mess of piss and tears.

Dr. Crane collected his briefcase and left the cell but not before pressing a button which once more muted Lucius' screaming.

I swallowed uneasily as he neared me still wearing that faded, twisted mask...

What was he going to do?

He noted my unease yet only tilted his head so the noose hanging around the mask's neck swayed over his suit. The sight was uncanny but not necessarily scary.

He then slipped the mask over his head to hold it by his side. After running a hand through his slightly mused hair, he smirked at me, "Did you enjoy your gift?"

I looked at him, slightly stunned by his face bare of glasses yet filled with _life_ then at the cell then back at him, "What...Is it permanent?"

He nodded, seeming to radiate with pride, "Yes. He was the first to sample my newest brand of medicine. The effects should fall and spike randomly throughout his lifetime, bringing different hallucinations into his mind. With constant strain of fearsome auditory, visual, and kinetic hallucinations his mind should break before the night is through yet thankfully he is already contained in an environment suited for such temperaments."

I felt a stab a fear pierce through my heart.

Would I be next?

Shakily I turned to him, the question on my lips but self preservation kept me silent.

He glanced to me then raised his eyebrows, "If you're worried about experiencing the same treatment, you have nothing to fear..." he chuckled, "Well except fear itself."

I wasn't quite sure what to make of his words or what happened to Lucius although I was thankful...

I smiled softly, my heart flying in dizzying circles which clouded my mind: I was saved!

"Revis?" he asked in an almost testy manner.

I looked to him unable to decide if I wanted to hug him, run from him, or ask to see him torture Lucius some more.

I took a breath before walking up to him and smiling sweetly.

"Thank you..." I said softly yet my smile faded as I looked down, "But why?"

"Pardon?" he asked.

I wouldn't meet his eyes, "I'm just another crazie with slight resilience to your poisons..." I looked up at him questioningly, "Why am I so important to you?"

He sighed and lifted my chin ignoring my attempt to take a step back as he wound an arm around my shoulders, "You're different than the rest of them."

I was frozen in his gaze, unable to move or think of anything aside from him. I felt tired of this all—

I needed to leave Arkham but he wouldn't let me. If I even tried to there's no telling what he would do—

_ "You have nothing to fear, well except fear itself."_

Yet wasn't he fear incarnate? He was the deliverer of fear, an agent of psychology...

Yet I wanted freedom.

Death had no boundaries, no ties to the world, and no fear.

He let go of my chin and stared down at me easily from his tall height, "Come now Revis, you should rest. Due to pressing circumstances, I'll see you in two days."

I nodded distractedly, letting him lead me away until we were at his office where he called in Ernest who walked me back to my cell while I tried to process everything.

Nevermind my past, nevermind Lucius, nevermind my mind, I was Death and I've been neglecting my duties. Yet to take back my title, I'd have to leave Arkham and whatever it was I had become while staying here.

Stealth was the requirement; I needed to push aside this mind, _those_ feelings, in order to escape with my wits intact. My experiments, the punishments I would bestow to those who disrespected death, my life of solitude, all of it would have to wait until I was free of Arkham—free of Dr. Crane.

My heartstrings twisted painfully at the thought but I knew this was getting out of hand.

Nothing would come of this hopelessly one sided joke. I couldn't let myself fall into his hands. Already my defenses were down.

I...I trusted him and that was my mistake. I needed to leave before he could twist that trust.

He couldn't know the feelings—What feelings?

I liked him, sure he was kind on occasion and he's been protecting me but I had nothing other than amicable emotions toward him. There was no room for feelings to grow. I would _ensure_ that there never would be.

I would become Death again and leave him. After all, he was nothing to me.

While I was here he acted as my psychiatrist, he hurt me, threatened me, taunted me—

He helped me.

No, that's why I needed to leave. This was becoming dangerous.

I needed to leave before...before I fell in love with him.


	28. Chapter 26: I'm Sorry

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers who made my week! It's always breathtaking to see how many of you read my humble yet demented story! **

**As a treat to you fantastic people, I am posting twice today because after this is the epilogue of Mors Et Timor-But THE STORY IS NOT OVER! This is just the end of Part 1. Next friday I will update the prologue and first chapter of part two, Timor Et Mors, with its NEW SUMMARY in the authors note (the story is too immense to have the official summary cover it so for each new part I will include the respective summary). This story will have three parts on my side then my wonderful Megamind will switch to her side of our tale in a new story yet the current story of Dr. Crane and Revis will continue throughout both our publications.**

**Personally I'm relieved to be out of the painful chapters of my earlier writing despite my fondness of certain points. It amazes me to see so many people enjoying such work when I know I have much more to offer and now I can prove it. I just want to thank you all once more because to have completed the first part of my story with the wonderful support I've recieved is simply overwhelming!**

**Also I do not own Batman in any way, shape, or form with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 26<strong>

...Two Days Later...

"You sure about all this?" Ernest asked me quietly as he led me to Dr. Crane's office for what would be the last time.

I nodded discreetly then opened the door and gave him a warning glance with my eyes before I entered the room.

To some degree of disappointment, I didn't feel the need to familiarize myself with the room; however, the occupant was an entirely different matter.

Dr. Crane was immaculate as always, soft grey vest, green and silver tie, crisp suit, well styled hair (if not due for a little trim), and sharp gaze behind his glasses.

Would I miss him?

No, I was beyond that.

The past two days had been eye opening.

I _would _escape Arkham just as I _would_ bury whatever misplaced affection I felt toward him. He was nothing to me and my work. While here, I was separated from my duty but now I will return and no one, not even him, would interfere.

Death. I was Death...

Death didn't fear. Death didn't love. Death didn't bleed. Death didn't wait.

My body was made weak by their food, their medicine, his threats, and other abuses but after tonight I would reclaim my name, my legacy, as I would destroy Arkham along with my beloved psychiatrist.

I took my usual seat on the chair in order to observe the room in a way to buy time. Occasionally, I'd glance at him but I never held his gaze for long.

He cleared his throat, "You seem to have made significant progress this week."

I met his gaze calmly.

I was Death, I had nothing to fear.

"I would like to talk about your treatment—"

"Pardon?" I asked, slightly startled by his change in direction.

He raised an eyebrow, "Your treatment was prolonged before due to your health and once more to allow you sufficient time to recover but now I believe—"

I narrowed my eyes and spoke, my words sounding like ice, "After everything you've done, you're insistent that I undergo some procedure?"

He frowned slightly, "If you'd let me—"

I cut him off, "I think you've done enough, Dr. Crane."

He looked down on me condescendingly, "I believe my rights are well within the appropriate boundaries; however, your current behavior is not."

I sneered, "Oh, I forgot complete submission is the only rights I'm allowed..."

He paused before replying lazily, "What else would you expect to earn as just another loon?"

I glared at him, thankful my anger had returned along with my title.

No more weakness, no more feelings; I was Death and I was unstoppable.

"My expectations were sorely misplaced."

"Feeling regrets, Revis?" he asked mockingly.

I asked tightly, "What would I regret?"

He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands together, "Perhaps your insanity which lead to your arrival at Arkham," I gritted my teeth, "Or maybe your minds weak struggles to not succumb to your fear."

I clenched my fists together, "And what fear would that be?"

He smiled and leaned forward, "Oh, did you think I wouldn't figure it out? Your _greatest _fear."

I exhaled angrily and stood, knocking over the chair, "You know nothing of—"

He smiled arrogantly, "Don't I?"

He stood and walked around the table, "I know more than you would realize, _Nicole_. In fact, I know more than you know yourself."

"Stop," I said firmly but he continued to smile—

Oh, how I hated his smile.

He walked forward, "Surely you aren't _afraid_ of the truth? Then again, you seem to enjoy using double standards to suit your own means."

Allowing my fury to rise, I lashed out, "Do you enjoy taunting the mentally ill? Are you so desperate to feel superior you must provoke those who have no chance of retaliation?"

He looked me over in a way that had the hairs on the back of my neck rise, "I find it almost endearing how well you're able to hide your fear. Your attempts to turn the tables, find some meager leverage, perhaps leave unscathed, are all amusing."

How dare he! I was not here for his amusement!

"Is this what it is? A game? Some amusement for you? Did you get a kick out of playing 'hero'?"

He raised an eyebrow, "I believe you misunderstand me, Revis," he neared me, "I'm helping you even now. After all, what use is it in only protecting you from others when the danger lies in yourself."

I frowned as I tried to understand the meaning of his words. In a way it made sense—

No, I was Death and I didn't need him.

He placed a hand on my left shoulder, "Time to face your fears, Revis."

I narrowed my eyes and tried to back away only to find I was unable to because the overturned chair blocked my means of escape.

I looked back to him, glaring venomously, "I believe you've had your fun 'experimenting' earlier—"

He cut me off as he tightened his grip, "That was punishment but this is something else entirely."

I pushed him back so he stumbled a step or two, "Enough! I'm sick of your mind games!"

He fixed me with an intense look, "No, you're sick of your inability to function under terror—You're sick of your own weakness. Tell me Revis, how does it feel to live in your personal hell?"

I panted, "I don't know what you're talking about—"

He reached toward me so suddenly I was taken off guard as he pushed me against the desk.

Half formed flashbacks flashed through my mind of Lucius pinning me, _touching _me—

No, this wasn't the time for that.

"Yes, you do..." he leaned over me clearly enjoying the way I shook as he lowered his head to my ear and whispered tauntingly, "I know you fear asylums—" immediately I struggled against him but due to our position he easily pinned my arms at my sides, "I know every time you wear a straightjacket you fight panic; I know with each pill you long for relief; I know those—" he exhaled heavily and continued in a slightly strained voice as I continued to thrash in his grip, "_treatments_ terrify you in ways you won't admit to yourself," his breathing was slightly faster as he continued while leaning away to look at my face, "I find it humorous, in a way, to know this entire time you've been fighting your inner deamons as we've woven an elaborate game."

Panting, my mind wiped blank by his sudden revelation, I retaliated "What do you expect to gain from this? Great, you know my fear but what good will that do you? I'm not some pet you can lock away while you're off parading around in a mutilated potato sack with your chemistry kit."

He looked at me sharply, "How many times do I need to repeat myself? This is for _you—_"

I managed to break free of his grip long enough to push him away, "Face my fears?! What bullshit is that? _Nothing_ has changed since I've been brought here! So tell me _Doctor,_ what do you have planned now? Am I to be 'punished'? Will I be taught some 'lesson' or some other sick theory for you to test out while you play around?

'This isn't about _fear_ it's about sanity! Did you actually think it was _normal_ to hide away secret labs and torture others for some sadistic pleasure?"

I panted slightly before continuing at a calmer voice, "So _Doctor,_ what constituted this _obsession_ with fear? Was it your own fear? Were you bullied as a kid? Did your parents not love you? Is this all some attempt to control your own fucked up feelings?"

For a moment, I was distracted as he looked down to adjust his suit—

What the hell was he thinking?

Then I noticed the dark glint in his eyes behind those cold glasses and the way his energy filled the air with dangerous, dark intentions.

I moved a split second before he lunged for me.

A strange mist filled the air so I quickly held my breath and yanked his desk lamp out of its socket then turned and bashed him over the head with it.

Not bothering to turn around to watch him struggle, I ran toward the door but slumped against the wall as something hit my back.

I hissed and looked at the fallen, _heavy_ paperweight then back at him as he rushed at me.

Before I could move, he had me against the wall.

"You shouldn't make assumptions, Revis."

His voice chilled my blood but I still struggled against him, "Fuck off!"

He grabbed my face, "Tsk tsk, what crass language—"

I tried to pry my face away but he held me tightly.

Shit, there was no escape.

"You've caused quite the problem with the asylum. At first I was hoping to negotiate with you, to cancel the procedure for a slight concession on your part but now I believe an immediate treatment would benefit you."

He dragged me away from the wall and toward the door.

Panicking, I struggled, "Are appearances so important to you? If so then it's an amazement to see a sociopath who wears a sack on his head in a sad attempt to scare others. What happened to standards in lunatics?"

My breath left me as he harshly pushed me against the door, "What indeed," he said in a light voice but I felt the darker undertones as he gently trailed a hand down my throat.

Before he could continue I spoke, fearing his touch, "You're pathetic..." I gasped in surprise as he grabbed my hip and pulled me against him.

I froze.

My eyes silently begged for mercy while my mind tried to figure out what was happening.

He tilted his head, "What seems to be the problem, _Nicole_? After all, these walls are soundproof—No one will hear..."

My breath constricted in my throat as I fought to seep into the door trying to collect my thoughts as he rubbed circles around my hipbones, each time threatening to move lower.

No, he wouldn't.

He breathed along my neck as he whispered in my ear, "Don't meddle in things that do not concern you," he pulled me against him once more causing me to whimper, "Understand?"

My heart jolted with a mix of emotions but I knew I couldn't let him intimidate me like this.

I was Death—

I was _scared_—

No, I was Death and I was about to leave.

I laughed breathlessly, "You really will resort to anything to inspire fear in others..."

He tightened his grip on my hip while his other hand pressed into my throat, partially constricting my breathing.

Despite the situation and my recent trauma, I found myself enthralled by his touch.

The dominance, the threatening danger those sharp blue eyes promised—

No, I was leaving. This was wrong.

He was threatening—

Only because I acted out—

No, I _needed_ to leave.

While I tried to think, my breathing became more and more labored until my pulse was racing and my head spun, "There is no victory in scaring a traumatized loon like me," I took a wheezing breath, "In fact, you're useless without your silly gas—" he threw me to the floor by my throat but I could hardly enjoy the fresh supply of oxygen because my breath left me as soon as he started yelling.

"Shut up! You will learn your place!"

I huddled into myself shaking uncontrollably as my heart pounded.

I couldn't think over the terror that wiped my mind blank.

"So now you're going to cower from me?! Do you honestly expect any mercy?!"

He bent over to touch me but I pulled away, tears automatically falling down my face. He easily pulled me to my knees where he watched me tremble and cough over my own strained breathing while I tried to speak over the tears choking my throat.

"P-Please don't yell...Please..." I whispered, feeling my chest constrict as the fear wrecked any semblance of thought, "No...No m-more yell—" my breathing hitched, "—ing—Please."

D-Death, I was Death—

No, I hated yelling.

I closed my eyes.

Yelling was so loud, so angry. I hated angry people but I hated it worse when they yelled. I couldn't handle yelling—

My skin prickled as he spoke lowly, "Why should I listen to an ungrateful, pathetic loon like you?"

I whimpered and rocked back and forth while trying to calm myself although when I spoke it all came out in a rush, "It'sbadtobeso," my breathing hitched, "so hypocritical—"

I was pulled up as he raised his voice angrily, "You have the nerve to insult me now?!"

I smiled and laughed, already embracing the terror and pain yet my voice was still rushed, "Face your f-fears right?"

He exhaled angrily before speaking at a dark yet controlled level, "Tomorrow when you're asked to make a testimony for the investigation on Arkham, you will deny it and offer no reason. If someone asks about those puncture marks on your shoulder you are to deny knowing anything and offer nothing else," he tightened his grip on my shoulder as he threatened me in a completely serious tone, "If you act out in _any_ way or defy me, you _will_ regret it."

Angry, so angry. Why was he so angry?

I buried my head in his shoulder as I sobbed with dry tears, "I-I'm sorry—I'm so sorry."

I clutched at his suit, "P-Please don't be mad anymore..."

His anger remained; I could feel it pour off him.

I wailed slightly, "You're still angry, I'm sorry. I-I won't tell them anything. I won't talk to anyone apart from you but _please_ don't be mad..."

I felt his uncertainty and hatred but the anger was buried by some emotion I couldn't place.

He gently stroked my hair, "You understand why I have to do this, don't you Revis?"

I nodded and hugged him closer to me, my eyes still wide but my breathing becoming calmer.

"I'm protecting you, I hope you understand."

I nodded again, "I-I'm sorry."

"It's alright, Revis. Remember, I'm helping you."

I kept my head still but stepped closer into his arms.

I felt safer, this was warm, sweet; this felt like home...

Something pulled on my mind, something that the terror cleared away before but Death could wait, my heart needed this, I _wanted_ this.

My mind felt numb and this room felt unreal so I thought it would be safe to speak.

"Most fear that which they do not understand..." I pulled away to look into his eyes with an uncertain gaze but spoke with a stronger voice, "But it is because I understand what you do, what you really are that I fear you...and I find myself unable to raise my hand against you except in anger..." I looked down then glanced back up, "but I only hate you because I am afraid of what I know...afraid of what you will do to me...especially with how I am."

He looked at me with his pale blue eyes and while I could see him quickly mapping out a response, I didn't care as long as he would reassure me. Yet when he remained silent, I looked down wishing I could take back the words as my sanity rushed back along with the tense atmosphere.

Fuck, what did I do?!

I was so close to leaving and then because he unintentionally scared me beyond my wits I fell into a fucking trap! I was Death and I _would _be leaving...

My heart felt like it was pouring out pain instead of blood as each silent second past, slicing me deeper and deeper. I needed to cut all ties, this was too dangerous. I was on the precipice and I was falling into him.

I pulled him closer and whispered, "I'm sorry."

Without another word, I turned and opened the door to leave, he didn't call out, didn't stop me, yet I felt his eyes pierce my back to grasp my heart.

Out in the halls, I glanced at Ernest then nodded discretely so the plan would be set in motion. He smiled tightly then escorted me back to my cell but I was distracted by my thoughts.

Why did each step feel like I was carving a hole in my chest? Why did my legs shake with worry and longing instead of anger or fear? Why did my stomach ache hollowly instead of quake with excitement at finally leaving? Why was it when I was returning to my duty, my life, I felt as though I was shouldering a heavy burden? Why was it that while I am free of Dr. Crane, I wanted nothing more than to fall back into his lies and games if only to glimpse those blue eyes once more?


	29. Chapter 27: Rain

**Ello! Minion here! Seeing as this is the continuation of the same update I will be brief-Once more thank you all, your support wows me and instills me with the desire to please everyone and be worthy of such praise. Thank you!**

**Now while this is the 'Epilogue' remember THE STORY IS NOT OVER! Much more is planned so next Friday please return to read the prologue and first chapter of Part two, Timor Et Mors.**

**Also I do not own Batman in any way, shape, or form with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>E<strong>**pilogue**

The rain fell down the sky in torrents.

Rain...

Funny how something so simple, so natural, seemed like a miracle.

I hurried down the dirty streets of Gotham, eager to map out my next move. Ducking under the awning of a video store, I shivered in the dark knowing I wouldn't be able to stay in this place for long. While I had already removed my orange shirt, I probably looked like an escaped nut.

_"Breaking News: Tonight in Gotham dark secrets are revealed as the former head psychiatrist at Elisabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane, Dr. Jonathan Crane, was _arrested_ on account of misconduct within his asylum. We have reports of the former Doctor being admitted into the facility due to illegal experiments concerning malicious hallucinatory drugs which he tested on patients with the intent to spread his work to the city._

_ 'While the previous investigation on Arkham was close to defeat, this new factor will surely bring justice to Arkham and Gotham alike. Some members of the city's board are calling for the immediate shut down of Arkham yet there are complaints at Blackgate Penitentiary claiming lack of room for a mass transfer. The fate of those within Arkham are being decided as we speak._

_ 'In related news, an inmate at Arkham Asylum was reported missing just earlier tonight. Patient 81395, alias 'Revis', a former mortician at Gotham's Funeral Parlor, is a dangerous individual with a history of violent murder and misconduct. If you find any information on this woman please contact the police but do not attempt approach her. I repeat while your cooperation is appreciated DO NOT attempt to approach her."_

I darted back into the rain which had already begun to harden into hail smiling in the biting chill: I was free.


	30. Prologue: The Game

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all you amazing reviewers and readers for your amazing feedback and support! Each comment touches my heart with a type of joy only authors can understand.**

**Next I would like to say wow...We're onto Part Two: Timor Et Mors and while the story continues I will be starting over on the chapter count for neatness. Originally I was going to include a summary of this part but I'm hardly sure where to start. Of course the original summary won't account for this part but I'm sure you'll pardon my lack of summary for each part. Just know that while the asylum is no longer the setting it is not forgotten-Similiarly any 'loose ends' will be tied up eventually although for some matters it won't happen until Part Three. **

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue:<strong>

**Chapter 1 Dr. Crane POV**

...One Year Later on a Monday...

I looked up at the grey sky knowing it was only a matter of minutes before the clouds opened the floodgates in the heavens and attempted to once more drown humanity like the filthy vermin they were. I, on the other hand, had a certain mouse to track down.

A torrent of rain soaked my bright orange uniform into a russet colour as I set out, leaving behind the asylum and the incompetent fools within its gates; let the game begin.


	31. Chapter 1: Libitina

**Ello! Minion here! Once more thank you all for your support and interest in my humble yet demented story! It's always a pleasure to read your reactions and ideas!**

**Now I apologize for the short length of this chapter but there are more to come and while things may seem drastically different please keep faith that things will work themselves out in due time. In one of my reviews I was asked if Revis would regain some of her previous mentality upon escaping the asylum and I hope this chapter and those that follow will reveal that she has-in some ways-but after surviving the traumas she has, she can never return to the repressed mentality she possessed at the beginning of the story. However, she does progress in certain ways that will hopefully become apparent as Part Two continues. **

**Now a slight moment of confusion is Revis' new name or rather pseudonym: Libitina. This name was crafted from Revis' memories of Latin for 'Libitina' was the name of the obscure goddess of death and funerals. In fact, undertakers were known as libitinarius/libitinari. Sadly there is little information on Libitina. Even so, Revis uses this name without giving an obvious explanation so I thought I would supply that for you all.**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Actual Story:<strong>

**Chapter 1 Revis POV**

...One Year Later on a Monday...

I bowed my head amid the applause then let the remaining crowd die away as I folded the carelessly thrown cash and coins into a small compartment of my violin case. Once there was enough room, I carefully cleaned the strings of my violin and loosened the bow before placing those inside as well.

Securing the case, I stood and leisurely made my way in toward the cafe. I smiled at the counter clerk then took my usual seat in the far back of the room.

Placing my precious violin case against the wall, I took a seat and wrapped one arm around it as a man would a lover. In a way, the same passion flowed between the instrument and myself.

I gently leaned my head against the hard, canvas like fabric as I absentmindedly stroked the hard plastic edges while I surveyed the room.

Business was waning but still moderate as eager customers awaited their treats. Yet not everything was peaceful, on the contrary there seemed to be a bit of a fuss at the register.

I frowned slightly as I watched passively while the customer tried to bargain for a discount on a cake do to the off shade of the frosting. I felt the urge to roll my eyes but refrained if only so I could continue to watch.

The elderly man at the counter looked sympathetic but I saw the tension in his shoulders and the slight shaking of his hands as he tried to calm the customer. The dispute was quickly settled as the man left the cake on the counter before barging out the door leaving the room in a hushed silence.

At this point most the patrons had left, allowing the man to let out a tired sigh in peace.

I scowled, wishing there was something I could do to raise the clerk's spirits. Perhaps I'd pick some flowers on my way here tomorrow...or perhaps I'd follow the offending man home and figure out the effects of dye once it replaced blood—

After all, it wasn't too different from the embalming process—

No.

I closed my eyes as I took a deep breath.

I couldn't go back to my old ways and I probably wouldn't find another place like this if I were to try and then end up on the run.

I needed to bid my time until the end of the week. If fate was kind I would have enough money for a train ride out of here—

Until then I would have to keep a low profile.

"Hello again Libitina."

I opened my eyes and glanced up to see the elderly man still wearing a flour stained apron. I gave him a small smile and looked to the bench then back at him, "Tea time, Mr. Baker?"

He chuckled, his eyes glittering with mirth, "At 9:30, I don't think so—and how many times have I asked you to call me, Mr. Zoller?"

I shrugged, "It's tea time somewhere in the world. Also you never seem to mind the nickname."

He nodded, "Right you are...How about some cake with your tea?"

I gave him an uncertain look, "I'd rather have the usual; cake doesn't last as long as bread—"

"Free of charge, as always, Libitina."

I paused then nodded and leaned my head back down as I stared at the table while he set to make my usual order.

"Filthy rats, did you see that man earlier? Thinking he would pay only three dollars for a cake worth at least sixteen if not twenty-four! I mean it's a lemon cake, it's already lemon coloured but he had the nerve to bring in paint colours! Did you hear that?! Paint Colours! Like we're some painting shoppe or something!"

I was mildly startled—How long was I staring off into space?

Focusing my attention on Mr. Baker, I raised an eyebrow, "What ignorance in the world these days...To think someone wanted to swindle you out of a well-made cake."

He saw my sense of humor and blushed slightly, an odd sight to see on wrinkled cheeks, "I suppose you're right. What he did was wrong but I've gotten too big of a head these days," he laughed heartily and poured me a cup of tea, "I suppose it's all those customer's you bring in."

I looked down, embarrassed at the attention then took my tea, mumbling a thanks.

He sat down with a tired sigh then looked at me with hard eyes, "What's wrong with you? Think yourself to be apart from praise? I'll insult you if it helps..." he paused, licking his dry, thin lips as he said in a gruff voice, "See you're too modest; you're overworking yourself. Have you no self-esteem?"

I half choked on my tea as I struggled to breathe through my laughter, "Mr. Baker—"

He continued in the overly deep voice, "You're too polite too!" he laughed once more before cutting the delicious looking lemon cake as he spoke in his normal voice, "My father would have sounded like that...He was a weaselly man full of good for nothing trickery. Why, he could flatter a woman out of her panties then turn her into a frigid ol' goose with a _single_ word."

I smiled politely, "And what word would that be?"

Mr. Baker served us both pieces of the cake and poured himself some tea as he spoke with sincerity, "Marie."

I furrowed my eyebrows, "What if the woman's name was Marie?"

Mr. Baker laughed then took a bit of the cake and chewed before answering, "No m'dear, he would _sing_ the word. That ol' man couldn't carry a tune with a bucket."

I let go of my violin to straighten my posture a bit as I began to eat as well. I smiled at the rich flavor that left a tingling mixture of sugar and lemon on my tongue.

"You look like you have had food in a good while..." he pointed out in between bites.

I froze slightly but recovered well enough, "I haven't had food like_ yours_ in a long time."

He rolled his eyes, "Of all the dastardly things to do, you have to go feedin' an ol' fart like me flattery."

I finished the cake and despite my growling stomach begging for food, I politely sipped my tea, "Perhaps it's working if I can eat two meals each day, free of charge."

He leaned forward on the table as if he was about to divulge a great secret, "You're many things but you're not like them."

I placed the tea cup back onto the saucer, "Pardon?"

He shook his head, his wrinkled neck much like that of a turkey fluttering slightly as the sagging skin moved, "Don't pretend you're hearing nothing but air blowing between your ears—You're different then all them vultures. They walk around this place all smiles and hugs but if you look closer," his eyes darkened and he leaned in more, "You'll start seeing like I do. Those smiles are bared teeth; those hugs are just a false act of trust. You see, people will turn on each other as soon as it suits them. I've heard more than just gossip and seen more than snobbery...People are dark creatures, Libitina, you'd be best to keep clear of em all."

This is why I kept company with Mr. Baker; he saw things as I did.

"Aren't I a person, just as you?"

He leaned back and shook his head before running a hand through his wispy white hair which seemed to stick up in disastrous tufts, "No, we're different. I'm a crazed man as old as dirt and as weary as time, you...Well, maybe you are crazier than I, that is if you keep listening to my rambles."

I clenched both my hands in my lap as I tried to calm myself.

It was just an expression. He didn't mean any harm—

"Oh Libitina dear, I'm sorry. Damn this tongue—I'll scare away all the young ladies if I keep at it. Here, before you go take a basket of breads, keep you full. Lord knows you don't eat nearly enough."

I looked up then back at the table my appetite gone, "How would you know when I'd leave, I might—"

"Stop right there."

I looked up uncertainly as he continued, "I see your heart bleeding out as you speak. You were _trained_ to talk that way, build some barrier between your heart and your tongue. Don't pull that rubbish around me; I'm too old to play those games."

I half smiled while my mind prickled with fear, "Don't you play games at the counter each day?"

He laughed, "Forget the cat, now the violinist's gotten my tongue," he sobered up to peer at me seriously, "I play along with these games, by their rules, because I have to. Do you think it'd be easy to run a place without bending over backwards to kiss the arses of rich fools? We may be on the high end of Gotham but mark my words we're still slaves to society."

I spoke quietly, fearing retribution, "In retrospect would your answer not justify my previous actions?"

He shook his head sadly and fixed his coppery gaze on me, "Whatever made a beautiful woman with great talent crawl onward with the meager money and charity she receives..." he trailed off shaking his head again, "We live in dark times, Libitina, darker than most would think."

I was quiet so he took the time to stand and wrap the rest of the cake and put it in a basket with my usual order of breads and plastic cutlery. I stood as well and carefully slid the strap of the violin across my chest then took the basket and cloak he offered me. Not smiling but giving him a thankful glance I headed out the door, my hand automatically resting against my violin case protectively as I made my way home.

It was dark by now and chilly but I was thankfully warm due to the long winter cloak I was able to make from thick fabric I bought at one of the crafting stores during summer in anticipation for the winter months.

In the beginning, I was petrified at the thought of shopping and walking about in daylight but I soon realized that no one cared in this superficial city. Even so, I let my hair grow out and despite my first crimes of stealing clothes from the Goodwill charity bin and my violin from an expensive music store, I bought whatever I needed with the meager money I made.

Truthfully, I had close to nothing but a few clothes which were interchangeable and customizable to add the illusion of a wide wardrobe. After all, there was a reason bums were arrested while street performers were paid.

A noise crashed in a (now rare) alleyway which made me quicken my pace.

At one time, the night would have been like a welcoming embrace but now I had nothing to protect me from harm.

I turned into the park and opted to stay close to the shadows instead of walking on the brightly lit path.

I was smart enough to avoid the police yet I wouldn't put it past my luck to be robbed or worse—

I shuddered and quickly changed my train of thought.

I had no refrigeration at the house yet the temperature was cold enough to not melt the frosting on the slices of lemon cake. Yet my usual breads would suffice for breakfast—

I smiled at the thought.

I was actually able to have breakfast!

As usual, I frowned upon viewing the desolate Victorian house I resided in.

The house was marked for demolition but due to the budget cuts of the city as well as the pressing matter of Arkham's investigation, funds were too low to carry out the project. The neighboring houses were either in bad shape or already destroyed so I had no worry of being seen.

I entered through the unlocked front door and quickly walked to the second floor, avoiding all the creaking floorboards and oddly placed nails.

Once in 'my room', I sat down in my usual corner near my nondescript bag carrying clothes, makeup, and the barest of bathroom necessities.

I carefully lowered my violin case to the floor, avoiding the scattered candles I sometimes lit while studying the violin music I 'borrowed'.

I did in fact return them but anyone else would have seen the act as stealing whilst I saw it as a necessity. After all, how would I make a small living off of playing the violin if I didn't have any music to play?

Not in the mood to study and memorize the music sheets although I knew I would have to return them soon enough, I placed the basket near my bag which I rested my head (with the cloak's hood up) on as I snuggled into the cozy fabric. Sleepily, I pulled my violin case closer so I was all but cuddling with it.

So much has changed...and yet nothing has.

Sure I changed my appearance just as I revived my talents at the violin (after a few months of painful learning which I obsessively worked at in order to survive off of more than the few hundred dollars I had stolen from the cash register in the music store) but in the reality of it nothing had changed: I was still alone.

I wasn't sure what I hoped to find in Canada—an escape maybe—but I knew I would never be able to outrun the memories.

I was meeting the forger at the end of the week to create a new identity for me along with a fabricated past which required most of the money I had cultivated over the year. While the actual business of finding a forger was difficult, I eventually found a way. Of course, my actual train ride to Canada would be more of a hideaway adventure until I reached the edge of the country and officially crossed the border.

My hope was to disappear and aside from the money earned by playing, I would live doing my true duty.

These days I was shunned...unable to visit graveyards, enter mortuaries, or even experiment on others. I was left adrift in the cruel, cold world.

Then again, Death was inevitable and this interlude would not last in the grand scheme...but still I wondered:

Would the fear?


	32. Chapter 2: Funeral

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank everyone, readers and reviewers alike, for your overwhelming support and interest in my humble yet demented story! Reading each review is like opening a fresh book for the first time and hearing that magical crack of the binding-although the nerves I feel upon reading is more like the flutter one feels before they preform...Either way your reviews are the highlight of my week and never cease to fill me with joy!**

**Next I would like to apologize for the short-ish length of this chapter and the slight 'off topic' feeling. I know things have changed and the pace is different but the 'lull' will not last for much longer AND as a special treat the next chapter is from Dr. Crane's POV (nevermind that it is even shorter...but it's worth it, I promise!) **

**Lastly, a bit of excitment which is Batman related (as I always try to center my author notes around such themes) to kick off yet another semester of school my first English assignment is to recreate my own Inferno after reading 'Dante's Inferno'. In order to bring attention to the epic DC Universe, I'm making my entire Inferno Batman-esque. If any of you care to read it, please let me know and I'll post it. I plan to incorporate MANY Batman characters (mainly villains) such as but not limited to: Batman, Bane, Poison Ivy, Penguin, Catwoman, Mr. Freeze, Harley, Joker, Revis (in a slightly anonymous manner), and of course Dr. Crane. The project is due next wensday and if I do post the story it will be on the day of my normal updates.**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

...Tuesday...

I awoke to a sore shoulder.

The throbbing limb tingled as I moved it from underneath me. While it was painful, I hoped I wouldn't interfere with my playing.

I blinked lazily at the peeling wallpaper before sitting up entirely. I popped my neck then stretched out my arms in an attempt to lessen the pain but it persisted as I tiredly looked toward the bread basket.

Ah breakfast, the current highlight of my life.

I smiled despite the usual anxiety that raced through me upon waking.

My surroundings reassured me I was indeed away from that metal hell but my panic didn't subside—Sometimes, I believed it never would.

Carefully, I unwrapped the basket then decided to splurge and have a cup of tea with my breakfast. I was about to open my bag to look for the tea bag and pot before I remembered I had already used the last of my tea last week—

Oh well, water would suffice.

I opened the bag and riffled through the contents of another yet smaller bag made of plastic from the cafe: sugar, condensed milk, honey, an empty tin box, small pot—Ah, my water bottle.

I began to eat the bread as I took a sip of from the bottle.

The water was almost gone but I would have enough for breakfast and I could always refill it from the small creek that ran behind the houses into the surprisingly untamed greenery of the outer edge of Gotham.

Gotham itself was a strange contraption of city, island, and country. There was the ever infamous Arkham and Narrows, each on its own island yet connected to the main island by a bride. There the middle class lived throughout the large city, growing grander by each block stretching away from the ghetto. In the far recesses of the island city on the mainland lied large homes, sparkling streets, and false smiles. A bit beyond that lied the crumbling upper class that bordered the country land of large mansions such as Wayne manor. Yet despite the fact that I lived on the opposite edge of that metal hell, I felt no security.

Finishing my meal, I stood and finished stretching before walking downstairs once more avoiding the soiled spots in the floor as well as the littered trash.

I shooed away a fly before taking the metal pail and walking outside from the backporch onto the soft soil of the 'backyard' and into the entrance of the pseudo woods.

Away from the clump of trees, there was a running creek which I filled to the brim with cold water before walking back into the house to the brass clawed bath tub. Making sure the drain was closed and the surface clean (as clean as it could be when scrubbed with old rags) I filled it with water then repeated the process until the tub was mostly filled.

Out of breath and slightly sweating from the exertion, I stripped myself of my clothes then stepped into the icy water. Knowing I would have to bathe quickly, I bent over backward ignoring my shivering body and chattering teeth. Holding my breath, I dipped my head underwater feeling chilly tingles brush over my scalp pleasantly.

Rising to the surface, I gasped for air then reached for the Johnson baby shampoo. While I didn't care for the brand it also acted as soap which helped my low budget living. Quickly, I washed my long hair then my body. Once more I dunked my head before rising to the surface quickly in order to stand, dripping wet and chilled to the bone.

Shivering, I reached for the towel I kept hanging from a nail on the wall. Then after drying off and wrapping my hair up, I put my dry socks back on my feet.

Still feeling too cold for comfort, I finished drying my hair so I was able to wrap the towel around my body. I knew it'd be better to wash my clothes while I had water in the tub and so I began the long and now freezing process of hand washing my clothes. What seemed like thirty minutes of washing passed before I hung the clothes on a clothes line I placed above the tub. After draining the tub itself, I made the journey back to 'my room'.

I felt vulnerable walking through the hallway with only a towel to cover myself. Thankfully, the windows were too dirty to see through but that didn't abate the tension in my back or the shaking of my hands as I dressed speedily in a long black pants and a flowing blouse. Gritting my teeth, I pulled the brush through my knotted hair.

Oh how I _hated_ long hair. In just a year it had grown halfway down my arm causing me pain whenever it tangled in the wind or after a cold bath.

Everything about my appearance irked me.

Long hair, attractive makeup, flowing clothes, an alluring smile I used to attract a crowd, all of it was disgusting. How I longed to simply cut my hair, walk outside without makeup or pretenses...but I would be found out.

Despite the need to dress and act the way I did, I hated it all.

The leers men gave me, the whistles, crude comments...My heart jolted with fear each time one of them spoke out or tried to make a pass at me.

My policy was simple: I played and they paid. Even so, there were too many times I've had to discourage eager men who hoped to take me out on a date or buy me into spending the night in some seedy motel downtown.

I hugged myself, my hair halfway brushed.

Dirty, filthy men. I hated them...their lecherous eyes, their deep threatening voices, their greedy, grasping hands, their fickle, cruel hearts, their selfish minds—

Well not all men were vile.

Mr. Baker was an exception. In fact, Mr. Baker was the exception to everything I had thought of humanity. Of course, I hadn't touched him just as he respected my distance and silence. In a way I loved the denial; never knowing his secrets, his thoughts...

While my gift was eye opening and often saved me in times I needed help (that was if my gift wasn't the thing that endangered me in the first place), I sometimes wished I felt nothing when I touched someone.

Then again, I doubted that would make much of a difference.

My talent only justified what I already knew of humanity: people were the enemy, men in particular.

I fingered the brush before lifting it to my head once more.

Nevermind that, people paid me money and I needed money if I were to follow my duty as Death.

Judging the time by the sun, I finished with my still wet hair after clipping it back so it spilled over my right shoulder in natural ringlets while my left shoulder remained bare before readying my makeup which was applied in the reflection of a broken mirror. Finished with my daily preparations, I donned both my cloak and violin then proceeded to leave the house.

The walk back to the bakery was made just as quickly as I left it. I had no business outside just as I had no desire to fall into misfortune by tallying. So used to the route, I arrived happily noting that I wasn't out of breath or sweating. Not bad for a long walk in sunlight around people.

Perhaps my people anxiety was lessening?

I smiled pleasantly at the passing crowd as I walked to the waist high wall curving around the outside tables at Mr. Baker's cafe which was barely populated.

The sun was high in the sky yet the chill of Gotham persisted. I silently groaned at the weather while I seemed to happily unstrap my violin case and shed my cloak in order to place it, neatly folded, on the pavement. After opening the case, tuning the violin, and tightening the bow, I stood and breathed evenly trying to place my mind on the music.

I glanced at the passing pedestrians trying to gauge the mood of the moment.

It was about midmorning, chilly, yet the strip mall was flushed with customers. Jazz was too early, folk songs tacky to the rich, slow songs would pass unnoticed, waltzes were too strong of an intro—Perhaps a simple, lighthearted love song?

Steeling my quickening heart, I raised my violin to my left shoulder, positioning it so my skin, revealed in the slit sleeves that trailed outward, touched the wood. I took another breath then placed the bow to the violin and began to play softly.

I focused my stiff fingers into moving along the easy paced song which I gradually built up into a moderate tone.

For now my playing would sound like background noise but later on it would rise and fall in both tone and style with the tide of customers and moods.

I received curious looks and a few glares but no money as I smoothly transitioned to yet another lighthearted song. I kept a slight smile on my face and occasionally looked into the crowd hoping to lure in an audience with an inviting but elegant gaze.

The hours passed with only a few coins in the case.

Yet I suppose that was to only be expected this early in the morning although a mom sat on a bench glaring at me threateningly as I played songs like 'Mary Had a Little Lamb' and 'London Bridge' for her children as they happily danced near my feet.

"Play twinkle twinkle little star!" a small girl with blond hair exclaimed cheerily.

I smiled nicely at her then ended the current song, 'Old McDonald Had a Farm', with a deep vibrato before complying with her wishes. When the children (two boys and the girl) skipped around hand in hand and began to sing, I heard the chuckles of passing customer and the 'Aww's of those sitting at the cafe.

A few pedestrians stopped to watch and even a photographer paused to snap a picture before the mom chased him away angrily.

Before the song had ended, the mom walked up and threw a crumpled twenty into the case as she dragged away her complaining children.

Now a few more people came closer one of which was a teenage girl who carried a satchel heavily marked with Harry Potter logos, pins, and ribbons. Hoping the sudden change in theme wouldn't scare away the rest, I played (much to the teenager's squealing delight) 'Hedwig's Theme'.

Surprisingly, more people stopped to listen to the song and a few coins and bills made their way into my violin case. The Harry Potter girl looked like she would cry from joy as I continued on to play yet another song from the popular series.

After she tipped me fifty dollars (I never knew the rich Harry Potter fans were so generous) a man requested a Star Wars song which I played as well. While more money was coming, I couldn't help but wonder if I would be reduced to playing songs from popular movies all day.

"How cheap, does she think gimmicks like those will get her anywhere?" a snobby woman hissed as she rudely walked into front of me, nearly jostling my hold on the violin.

Her companion laughed shrilly, "Oh hush darling. After all, you have to pity the woman. I mean just look at her clothes!"

I tightened my grip on the bow but continued to play.

After I was finished, I quickly mapped out the mood of the now dwindling crowd and played a soft intro before heading into a snazzy jazz song; most of the crowd walked by me into the cafe but not before tipping me with ones and the occasional ten. Falling back into the feeling of spicy yet flowing music I continued with my work as the cafe began to flood with customers for the lunch rush.

Closer to two in the afternoon (or so said the large clock atop the nearby bank) and after a variety of upbeat or sassy songs, the lunch rush began to wane.

Once more, I scanned the crowd in front of me for a sense of mood I could use to my advantage. Although my shoulder ached, my fingers were throbbing, and my throat was parched, I didn't stop for water.

Every hour counted, besides I had already taken a break at eleven for water and some bread which Mr. Baker happily supplied. Pushing my pain and sorrow into my violin I played 'Schindler's list'.

The crowd, which rapidly grew as the song attracted more attention, seemed enraptured by the song. I saw a few people dab at their eyes but the majority of my focus was into the song as well as my appearance.

After all, I could play the song over and over with my eyes closed but shy, sad glances revealing a sense of inner pain barely visible underneath a calm face coupled with the sway of my body which helped the slight wind move my wispy clothes painted a picture of pain, longing, and beauty that only benefited my much needed earnings.

To be honest, I loved the long, aching notes of songs such as the one I was playing. I felt as though I was able to pour my soul into the music.

"That's so sad..." a woman's voice said softly.

"Wow she's good!" A group of passing girls paused to watch.

I closed my eyes toward the crescendo as I gently furrowed my eyebrows enough to show the pain and concentration so I wouldn't seem too detached from the music as I would if I had kept my eyes open the entire time.

A definite fault of preforming was to keep one's eyes open and unfocused. One should either gaze into the audience to connect with the mood or close one's eyes in order to immerse oneself in the music—

Suddenly, thunder cracked down and without warning rain fell in torrents from the sky.

My eyes widened as I quickly threw my cloak over my violin case as I placed my violin and bow inside, uncaring of the lack of time I took to clean up. Water damage was more dangerous than a tightened bow.

Awkwardly, I carried my violin case and cloak underneath an umbrella which sheltered one of the cafe's outdoor tables.

Now able to move freely, I opened my case once more and properly cleaned my violin, allowing passing patrons who either entered to escape the rain or left to drive home to tip me once more. As the income of money ceased, I placed the money in the compartment which I emptied out every night then placed both my violin and violin bow gently inside with the proper adjustments taken.

Damn Gotham! How would I be able to play if it poured when wasn't even dark yet—

I wiped my face as the wind blew rain into my eyes.

Thankfully, I didn't wear my glasses while I performed—In fact, I hadn't worn my glasses since I started preforming a few months back. While I mainly needed then for seeing clearly signs and _clearly _defining shapes and colours, I was able to function with my slightly blurred vision and throbbing headaches.

"You played beautifully..." I looked up to see a smiling woman whose hair had just begun to grey although her skin had already wrinkled.

I smiled politely, "Thank you."

She reached out to touch my shoulder then asked, "I hate to ask but would you play for my son's funeral?"

I froze at the contact but she mistook my fear and revulsion for surprise yet as she continued on she thankfully let go, "Well you see, he was in a terrible car accident and after hearing you play...Why I don't want anyone else to perform."

I smiled sadly, "I'd be honoured although I'm about to leave before the month is through."

She nodded and pursed her lips, it was then I noticed the rich pearls she wore around her neck which contrasted pleasantly with the grey and black skirt/suit combination, "The funeral's two days from now. I know it's a bit short notice but I'd appreciate it ever so much if you performed. I'll pay you whatever you like. Oh dear me, my manners are simply terrible! What's your name?"

My cheeks warmed slightly, "My name is Libitina and I'd love to play but I wouldn't want to inconvenience you—"

"Nonsense, you have talent dear...and what a strange name. Is it foreign? Nevermind, it doesn't matter. Tell you what: I'll pay you a thousand if you play during the funeral and again at the candlelight service in the church."

My eyes widened but I quickly relaxed my face into a thankful smile, "That's very generous although I'd like to hear more about your son. Would you like some tea?"

Her eyes scanned me over in a mix of gratitude and distastefulness, "I'll pay."

I took the roundabout insult well enough as I sat with my violin case rested in near the wall and hooked around my foot.

She went inside to order then came back holding her umbrella over the five foot walk to the table.

"Horrid weather this time of year," she commented as she shook out the water.

Most of it hit my face but I wasn't sure if she meant it so I kept my calm composure and discreetly wiped it away.

"Are you visiting in Gotham?" I asked politely.

She rolled her eyes, "Like I'd actually live in this dump? Oh heavens no. In fact, I only came down here to meet my son..." she trailed off and her eyes filled with tears.

Knowing my touch would offend her, I spoke softly, "Was he a good man?"

She looked sharply at me, "Are you accus—" she stopped abruptly then looked down and sighed, "I suppose you're alright...No, he was not. He cared for gambling and racing much like his father although my husband had the sense to not actually _race_ the cars himself."

I noticed the black stone in her ring on her left hand and figured her to be a widow, "Those we love in life are unforgettable. The pain may not lessen but that only means their memory lives on."

She turned to me suspiciously, "Why, no one's ever said anything like that to me before..."

The tea and sweet bread came which momentarily distracted her. After helping herself to the food and motioning for me to do the same, she took a bite of her crumb cake, chewed, then continued, "I've heard plenty of condolences, or so that's what they're meant to be. It wouldn't be enough if I never heard another 'I'm sorry for your loss' or 'he's in a better place'. I mean, what use is pity when my son is gone...There's no better place for a child then in their mother's arms."

I took a sip of the hot tea, using my right hand since I knew my left would be shaking and aching for a few hours, Even so, I was thankful for the warmth as it spread through my body while I let her vent.

Surprised, she looked at me once more, "Aren't you going to reply?"

I lowered the tea cup, "Why would I when you wish to continue talking?"

Her cheeks flushed as her eyes grew cold, "I've never known someone to be so polite yet rude...but I suppose you're right although you seem too young to know these things."

Knowing my silence wouldn't be appreciated, I responded easily, "I've worked with grief in the past but not one heart bleeds the same. Would care to tell me more about your son...and perhaps your husband?"

She looked taken aback before nodding and wiping her lipstick stained lips, "Very well then..."

We continued to talk of his life, his death, her grief, his funeral—In fact, it all was similar to my job at the funeral parlor...

Perhaps Death had business with the living aside from punishment?


	33. Chapter 3: Newspaper

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers for your wonderful support during a tiring week! **

**Yet I would like to offer a bit of consolation for this short chapter-While the chapter length isn't meant to be long, I'm giving you all a nice treat that IS very long! That's right, my Batman Inferno is complete and ready to view! It was both exhausting and fulfilling to write it due to various reasons-like the fact that I have never written as the majority of the characters and other factors such as most of it was written while I was half asleep-but overall I'm happy with the result. This multi-chaptered, 26 page story will be on our (Minion and Megamind) profile page and will be titled "Batman Inferno". I hope you all have the time to read it, I promise it'll be entertaining!**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3 Dr. Crane POV<strong>

…Friday...

I walked the streets of Gotham in casual clothing as I continued my search. The streets were grimy as ever—

"Mommie, I want to see the violin lady!" a squealing child hollered, his face stained with either red kool-aid or some other dyed, sickly, and sugary substance.

"What violin lady?" the tired mom asked in a near monotone voice as she tried to tote the annoying child along while balancing a few bags in her other hand.

"Sarah saw her! I wanna see her too!"

I rolled my eyes at the child then continued walking down the street.

It seems nothing has changed—Well, in fact, everything has.

I've lost my home, my title, my entire life's work...and all because of one insignificant woman.

While I managed to steal back my notes and bottled poisons when I escaped, I lacked both test subjects and the chemicals to recreate any of my toxins.

To put it simply, I was _not_ happy.

I pulled the beret down over my forehead to partially hide my eyes. While I reverted to contact lenses courtesy of my previous connections, I didn't want to take the chance of being recognized. After all, my face had been plastered on the news for awhile now both due to my arrest and my escape.

Digging into my pocket and missing the days of leather wallets, I pulled out some change to pay for the paper. Exchanging the currency for news, I walked onward until I came to a video store where I leaned against the wall and flipped past the first few pages, bored with the current news: serial string of burglaries, winning sports teams, police canine force controversy, stock market, popular movies, daily horoscope, food and entrainment—

What's this?

Lazily, I read over the advertisement for some cafe in the upper end of town, "_Popular food, drink, and entertainment! Gotham's Outpost provides delicious pastries, hot beverages, and even free music, preformed live by a mysterious violinist!"_

What garbage, how would a violinist be mysterious? Shuffling through a few more pages, I saw nothing worthy of my attention. I mean, _how_ many times now have I read articles on my escape or the investigation which shut down Arkham?

'Insane Psychiatrist Experiments on Mental Patients', 'Insidious Intellectual Doctor Threatens Gotham', 'Arkham: Are the Staff Still Sane?', 'Sinister Workings at Local Asylum', 'Investigation Breakthrough Leaves Gotham Breathless', the list of cheesy headlines raced through the news, television, even the radio all desecrating my brilliant achievements by labeling them as 'twisted' and 'malicious' as well as defacing my own social standing with names such as 'psychotic' or 'deranged'.

I didn't particularly care about what Gotham thought of me but I was annoyed that the police found my work so easily. Of course, I know who set me up. The reports of the undercover Officer Greene and the cooperation of my former patient were a constant thorn in my side. Everyone thought the irony set in a nice tone to add spice to the news. 'Tormented Patient Rises Up Against Asylum', 'Inmate Helps Police End Abuse in Arkham'.

I wonder if Revis would be so appreciative of the reports if she knew I was out?

Then again, it would be difficult to find a paper without mention of myself or my deeds. I walked along the sidewalk, noting the sky seemed abnormally clear.

I suppose despite Gotham's unease at so many escaped criminals and the end of Arkham, life went on...

I paused to look at the newspaper's front 'Deranged Doctor Escapes Asylum', before throwing it into the nearby trashcan.

I found it ironic in a way...

The day of triumph for members of the investigation when the inmates of Arkham were to be moved into a new wing made especially for transferring criminals was ruined as the 'prize' of the conquest, the 'Dark Doctor with Dastardly Desires' as some tabloids claimed, escaped.

I turned onto yet another street as I mentally went over the places Revis had either been to or would flock to—

"Hey mister, have a paper and help Gotham keep its culture!"

Before I could glare icily at the preteen, he shoved the paper into my chest causing me to reflexively grab it. I walked on in a foul mood.

The nerve of people these days.

Carrying on, I glanced at the cover of a woman playing the violin as children danced in front of her, 'Music, Laughter, Food; Keep Gotham's Spirit Alive'.

Again, what rubbish—

Wait a moment...

I paused which earned me some angry looks as a couple walked around me but I paid little attention to them. Instead, I brought the picture closer to my face as I looked into a familiar face.

After an angry warning from an old man, I stepped out of the walkway and leaned against a building.

Quickly, I skimmed the paper.

_"The quaint side of Gotham offers art, culture, and delight to all ages within the modern yet antique adaption to the previous 'downtown' Gotham which was destroyed in the great fire of 1936'._

_As depicted in the picture above at Gotham's Outpost, stationed at Sapling Circle, a popular violinist plays nursery rhymes for the children who frequent the market place. Much like the constant yet subtle influence of music, Gotham's cultural youth has been neglected despite its constant tie within our community—"_

My my, what did I have here?

She had almost fooled me with her hair being so long and wearing such an open smile yet knowing Revis this was all an act. She would hate children just as much as she hated the rest of humanity.

I scanned over the paper noting every minute aspect about her: the tilt of her head, the straight posture as she held the violin, poised mid stroke, her gaze searching through the hidden crowd as she stringed them all along with the little game she played...and that's all this was to her: a game.

She wouldn't willingly spend her life entertaining children, let alone people. In fact, that violin was probably stolen.

I smiled to myself as I folded then pocketed the flier. While she certainly has changed my revenge did not.

I'm coming for you, Revis...


	34. Chapter 4: Trapped

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all you fantastic readers and reviewers for supporting my humble yet demented story, your kind words always lift my spirits even after the most difficult weeks! **

**Today I had an Batman assemble featuring Batman, Robin, Catwoman, a mob of Joker dancers, Harley, Poison Ivy, Two Face, Riddler, Bane, and Scarecrow-Each character held a special role within the assemble and to say I was fangirling would be an understatement! Overall it was an intense and amazing event that made my day! ^-^ **

**Oh and I apologize for the 'short' chapter but everything has its place and I promise that the next chapter will be longer! And for clarification, the unamed songs described are as follows: "El Tango De Roxanne" from Moulin Rogue , "Explosive" by Bond, and "Libertango" by Bond. I do not own any of the songs but admire the mastery of the violinists within each one!**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

…Saturday...

I found you...

I glanced over the crowd that gathered around her as I watched from the other side of the strip mall. Her music was easily heard from here and I had to admit I was impressed at her talent. From what she told me, she hadn't played since her senior year in high school that would mean she made up for the lack of practice in six years over the span of a few months. However, I wasn't here to congratulate her on her musical ability but rather...observe. Knowing her seclusion, these acts of public performance were probably a necessity for her to survive.

Similarly, I timed my arrival carefully to ensure I would find her in the middle of large crowd or at least too involved in her music to take a deeper note of her surroundings. After all, I wouldn't want to be found out this early in the game.

Despite my dark thoughts, the afternoon sun cast the entire plaza in a ray of golden light, warming the flowers which hadn't died by autumn's frost, and adding a cheery light to the scene in front of me.

I admit it was a shock to see my normally pale, defenseless patient preforming with smiles and humor. If a stranger were to look at her he would see an attractive yet pale woman of average height with long brown gold hair which curled in natural ringlets that were swept aside in order to play a lightly coloured violin. He would see her smile and her eyes glitter with mirth and think her to be a pleasant performer.

But I knew better...

Either she was still suffering or hadn't sufficiently recovered from the malnutrition at Arkham which had left her thinner than she was upon arriving. She seemed to have regained a bit of weight which made her seem healthier yet her sickly pale skin remained a constant feature despite the warmth of the sun. While her hair was the greatest change, I hardly paid attention to that. In fact, my main point of focus was her face.

Her expression matched whatever song she was playing but her gaze remained the same: searching. Whether she sought to reassure herself there was an audience, determine if they would pay, or simply felt panicked, she would occasionally scan the crowd in a discrete manner.

"Damn she's hot," laughter sounded and I turned my head slightly to see what appeared to be a group of college students, judging the GU sweatshirt one of them wore.

"Hey Baby!" one of them called out loudly, briefly covering the fading note she played.

She paused in her playing and appeared to be thinking of a song but I knew she was startled.

After all, she never dealt well with attention. In fact, she killed her assistant because he took her home when she was sick.

Yet despite the peril of nearing a nut as dangerous as Revis, one of the cocky college students walked up with a smirk. He probably thought himself to be God's gift to women with his short golden hair, baby blue eyes, and a playful smirk yet I found him to be a sort of sacrificial lamb about to be slaughtered.

He gave her a leer, "Wanna grab a bite to eat?"

She met his eyes briefly to convey a challenge as well as condescending amusement at his antics before she played the opening to some song. Stupidly, he continued to talk as she played the first few notes sparsely and quietly.

"Come on you must be hungry, I can promise you a good time. Food, laughter, fun?"

She continued to look at him with a sort of haughty amusement as the song picked up into an angst filled, sharp tune which matched the feeling of a tango.

I caught the humor in her actions and found myself chuckling softly.

Someone turned to look at me but I gave them no mind.

Obviously Revis was challenging him to try his best even though he was assured a painful failure...but would she attack him in public?

Normally, I would assume so without a second thought but if she took the pains to steal a violin and change her appearance she must need something...but what?

Getting frustrated, the man held up two bills and while I was unable to see the amount I figured it'd be quite impressive—After all, this was in the upper end of Gotham.

"Look this is yours if you hang out with me and my pals. Let's face it, it's a lot more than you'll make here all day."

She closed her eyes to him as she played out the fiery and chilling tune.

Here it was: he was rejected thrice now so his reaction would determine his fate.

I was still struggling with the notion of her murdering or at least attacking a man in her current situation which led onto the question of her behavior and her train of thought.

"Stupid bitch," he muttered easily within her range of hearing before walking back to his jeering friends.

I paused, waiting for her to lash out but instead she kept her composure and continued to play while the crowd sent dirty looks at the man. Under the glares of the crowd, the men left.

As soon as they were out of sight she opened her eyes to smile flirtatiously at the crowd. I was taken aback at her daring but I suppose there was a hidden message within the little stunt she was pulling.

I swallowed uncomfortably as she swayed her hips softly while leaning backward slightly so her hair would catch the wind and float eerily. The song ended but her challenging smirk didn't leave. Rather, she raised her smoldering gaze to the crowd once more then played another song.

I was shocked at her forward actions. She was never so dramatic or, well, _alluring_. Looking closer, I saw she even wore makeup.

Thinking more on her changed appearance, I listened to the song while bidding my time. At first, the music was hypnotizing and moving but now it became fiery with an almost addicting quality which had a few people in the crowd moving as well.

I had to admit the tune was catchy but I refrained so much as smiling. There was a flash before I realized cameras were appearing in the crowd.

Why the fuss, she wasn't that popular—Were those video cameras? Oh well, it seems as though she'll have to put on a show.

She opened her eyes and caught sight of the cameras but instead of panicking or slacking she seemed to grow bolder. A few people came forward to toss money into her open violin case which I was surprised to see almost overflowing with cash.

How long was she here today?

My eyebrows rose as she slightly shifted in her hips to manipulate the skirt into twist and dancing around her legs to give the illusion of sensual dancing.

From all that I had seen at Arkham or from testimonies of her old life, she never gave any inclination to a skill at dancing—or, well, flirtatious manners of any kind. She was a socially awkward recluse with no human desires such as lust.

However, she seemed at ease while she played effortlessly. Toward the end of the song, there was a moment of peace and lilting notes which she used to slow her movements and gaze searchingly along the crowd before the notes quickly increased in pace.

Once more she all but danced with the violin but this time her movements were more restrained. As the music rose into an energizing beat she flipped her hair forward a bit then moved in a seductive yet fiery way as before finishing the song passionately.

As the last notes faded along with my train of thought, she took a deep breath and smiled sweetly at the loud clapping. Seeming to glow in the attention, she bowed partially then tossed her hair back over her shoulder and glanced through the crowd once more as if to lure in a paying listener.

She paused and I could practically see the theatrical efforts she made while preforming to cover up her thoughts which still remained unknown—for now.

She seemed to come to a decision in her brief pause as she lifted the violin to her shoulder and began to play another seductive song.

The soft yet alluring tune suited the crowd well as they eagerly stepped forward to throw cash into the case...

Ah, I understood now.

She would gauge the mood of the crowd and either add or subtract theatrics, smart tactic that someone as manipulative as her would think up. As if to validate my thoughts, she kept the theatrics to a minimal during the song. Instead of dancing or giving the illusion of dancing, she swayed her body, mainly her shoulders slightly.

As the song progressed, she occasionally looked toward the crowd in order to gauge their reactions then she would lower her eyes, seemingly mesmerized by the music itself. The tune both dipped and rose while keeping the high, soft notes which made the crowd smile widely despite the pressing clouds which extinguished the warm sun. She finished strongly and smiled once more at the paying audience.

At this point, I stepped away from the crowd along with a few other passing pedestrians. I wasn't sure if her 'talent' of 'seeing' energy would still work or worse yet if she would recognize me from merely walking by her.

While I would reveal myself, I wanted to find out more about the life she lived or at least how she behaved around others. With my precautions in mind, I stepped into the other entrance of the cafe and patiently waited in line while keeping an eye on her in case she moved to someplace else.

The cafe itself seemed fairly busy without being hectic but I suppose Revis acted a bit as an attraction to the public—Why else would the store tolerate her?

I lazily surveyed the menu when I was second in line. If anything, this seemed to be a family owned coffee shoppe much like Starbucks yet it doubled as a bakery, how quaint.

When the woman in front of me completed her purchases I stepped forward and smiled slightly at the wrinkled man, "Hello, what can I do for ya?"

I cleared my throat, "I'll take the nutmeg special with coffee cake."

He nodded slightly and murmured the order under his breath before turning around to pour a few things together. Making use of the time I asked loudly enough for him to hear, "That violinist's quite talented."

He nodded and called over his shoulder while he added whipped cream with a spice atop my drink, "Libitina? Yeah, she's a charmer. Done wonders for this cafe."

Libitina? What sort of false name was that?

After selecting a slice of cake from the display case, he handed both to me on a small tray and asked for a small price of five dollars.

Hmm, if the food proved decent I might become a frequent customer. After all, I didn't have much else to do but lay low and rebuild my lab. Thankfully, I had enough cash stored away in two deposits secured with separate pseudonyms as a safety measure but that did nothing to alleviate the boredom.

I thanked him for his work and walked outside to one of the shaded tables with a decent view of Revis. I would watch her for a few hours and then when it seemed she was about to leave, I would hide out then follow her. I smirked after sipping the surprisingly delicious drink.

I've found you and now there's nowhere to run.


	35. Chapter 5: Capture

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all you amazing readers and reviewers for the overwhelming amount of comments that brightened my week despite the overload of stress. **

**So here is a treat for you all-an early chapter! Yes, longer than the chapter before and updated earlier, here is my gift for you. Although I apologize for the strained 'newspaper article', I always struggle with official reports but hopefully it's not too distracting. **

**Yet since this is the month of October, I'm planning on writing a special Halloween treat for you all (I'm thinking short story, Dr. Crane based, and deeply disturbing ^-^ ) which will hopefully petrify you beyond anything you've read yet! I'll try my best to post it (although its currently unwritten) on Halloween but I can't make any promises until I get closer to the end of the month.**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5 Revis POV<strong>

...Sunday...

While things hadn't quite gone according to plan (such as the forger prolonging my papers until Tuesday), I didn't mind the change of events. What were a few more days of playing for money, free food, and some semblance of ritualistic behavior in the face of uncertainty?

Yes, I was nervous...but anything was better than staying here, living in fear—Wouldn't I always like in fear(?)—working tirelessly all day for money—Was it so different from my work before?

Yes, yes it was.

Before, I had purpose and while I attended the funeral and played, earning myself a large gift of money from not only the woman but others, I felt incomplete.

I tightened my grip on the strap of my violin case while I walked back to the cafe. Sunday's were usually slow but I hadn't anything else to do and I had finished off the bread Mr. Baker sent me away with a few days ago.

As expected the courtyard was mostly clear aside from a few scarce pedestrians who managed to hurry about in a tired way.

Not bothering to set up yet I walked into the store hoping for some semblance of a late breakfast or an early lunch.

What can I say, I've grown spoiled with the thought of free food and while I missed other food groups such as fruits, vegetables, meat—Oh how I missed meat...

I cleared my train of thought as my mouth filled with saliva at the thought of juicy, slightly bloody meat...or maybe ribs dripping in sauce—

Enough! Some raisin bread and a variation of tea would suffice.

I had just approached the shoppe when Mr. Baker came out and huffed when he saw me. He froze then placed his hands on his hips and said in a theatrical voice, "That's it! Out with you! You work too hard. Go take your flawless working skills somewhere else."

I smirked then lost the cocky expression as I glanced at him pleadingly, "Wait!" he paused with a twinkle in his eyes and I reached into a hidden pocket of my cloak. Smiling in a joking way I tried to act dignified without losing my composure as I held out the money, "I'm a paying customer."

He laughed and even slapped his knee before he regained his breath, "Oh Libitina, you're too good for these ol' bones to take. You know your money's no good here. Come on in, let me fix you a cup of ginger tea and raisin bread—Free of charge."

I gave a small smiled and pocketed the cash, "As always, Mr. Baker."

He walked into the shoppe but his voice still echoed, "How many times do I have to tell you to call me, Mr. Zoller?"

I stepped into the shoppe as well and replied, "As many times as I call you, Mr. Baker."

He shook his head muttering a bit as I took a seat at my usual seat in the back. While his shoppe hadn't technically opened due to the later schedule he had the shoppe set up at the usual time.

Enjoying the quiet morning, I removed my cloak, leaned my violin case up against the wall, and slumped down a bit as I sat. Absentmindedly, I cracked my knuckles while trying to get the blood flowing into my fingers.

Today was chillier than I had thought and consequently the water had been colder. I dreaded to remember the water's temperature in the winter but hopefully I would leave before that...

A slight pain shot through my chest at the thought of leaving Mr. Baker and the cafe.

The greedy people and filthy men I wouldn't miss but without Mr. Baker I had no one—

No, I didn't need anyone. I was Death and while I was working to earn my way out of this place, I wouldn't forget my duties. I was in exile but soon I would return to my rightful place.

Despite my urgings that I was doing the right thing, I felt saddened at the thought of leaving behind sunlight and hope. I didn't want to be a prisoner within my own life—

No, I was Death. My life was to care for the dead. I knew no other joy than that.

"Why so glum, Libitina?" Mr. Baker asked as he set down my breakfast/lunch and a newspaper.

I didn't bother plastering a smile to my face although my lips twitched at the reflexive urge, "Sometimes I believe I think too much..."

I didn't bother to elaborate and over many months, almost a year, of spending time around me he knew better than to pry.

Instead, he let down a groan as he sat, "When thinking hurts it's because your heart is trying to speak up," I looked up slightly confused as he slid the tea cup my way, "Don't think. Thinking's for the old...or is that remembering?" he trailed off then shook his head to focus himself, "Now listen, you feel a pain in your heart that messes with your head, right? Follow that pain, find your heart some help then you won't hurt when you think over things."

I took in the wisdom with a few sips of the tea and a bite of frosted raisin cake before I replied in a quiet voice, "And if my heart's torn?"

He nodded slightly and sighed, "I thought it may be a broken heart—"

I started to protest, my cheeks red, but he held up a hand and looked at me deeply, "Hearts can break in different ways. I don't know which way yours split but it must have been cut deep cause I can see it bleeding out under the scars."

I looked at the table and refused to meet his gaze. It was quiet for a few minutes until he sighed and stood and said lightly, "Well I better open the shoppe but if I see you out there before eleven thirty I'll throw you down in the cellar."

I took his words without a reply but glanced up to let him know I wasn't mad but confused. Instead of questioning me further, he left to tidy up the shoppe once more as I slowly ate the rest of my meal in between sips.

From my heart then...Did my heart bleed because of my past?

No, I left that behind.

Was it my separation from my duty?

Perhaps...although wouldn't I feel relieved as I grew closer to leaving?

Could it be the—

No, I wouldn't think of it.

_"Follow that pain, find your heart some help and you won't hurt when you think over things."_

If only...but if were to find Dr. Crane again—

My heart tugged violently as I closed my eyes and sighed. Opening them again, I leaned my head against the violin, my arm once more around it as I stared just above the empty plate.

Nothing would be fixed, he wouldn't help me, and in the end I would only have the same nightmares, the usual fears, and a horrible sense of being broken.

A bitter part of me yearned to ask Mr. Baker what to do when my heart was torn between staying and leaving someone who hurt me but helped me—

No, that was all a game. He didn't want to help me; he only wanted to use me. Besides, I had already left so there was no use in thinking over the past, over what could have been...over him.

I shook my head then glanced at the paper and froze.

My heart rate stopped then doubled as a fearful adrenaline shot through my body. My head felt light as my hands shook when I reached toward the paper.

**'Psychotic Psychiatrist Loose On Gotham'**

I looked at the mug shot of my former psychiatrist with horror before shakily pushing aside the tea cup and saucer as I held the paper up to read.

_"On Monday night earlier this week, during a transfer to Blackgate Penitentiary, the criminal formerly known as Dr. Jonathan Crane, head psychiatrist at Elisabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane, escaped. While unspecified claims of spotting this madman have been made, all leads were found inconclusive. _

_The former psychiatrist was arrested under counts of illegal and inhumane experiments conducted over helpless patients within the asylum, breaking the many acts against rights to the mentally ill. However long the Doctor's reign of terror would have lasted without gaining notice is unknown but thankfully due to the combined efforts of Officer Greene and another inmate, alias: Revis, the demented doctor was put to justice._

_Now, nearly a year has passed since both the admission of the former psychiatrist and the escape of his patient, Revis. Some think there's a connection between the two criminals but policemen insist there isn't any sort of partnership between them._

_Other sources bring forward solid information proving the inmate, Revis', cooperation with the investigation on Arkham _before_ her admission into the asylum._

_Despite her disturbing crimes which landed the cooperative patient into Arkham, a smaller investigation is made by the promoted Officer, now Detective Greene, to determine if the timing of her admission was merely coincidental or if there was foul play on Dr. Crane's part. _

_Although, the current escaped patients have caused a stir within the board of the city, all efforts are being made to find and bring to justice these dangerous criminals. _

_On a brighter note, the transfer to Blackgate Penitentiary was successfully made without any casualties or missing inmates, apart from the former psychiatrist. Plans for Arkham's fate have been mulled over but whether the island will remain uninhabited, undergo reconstruction into another public service building, or experience other changes in the future it is safe to say, Gotham will prevail even in the darkest of times."_

I read over the article twice but the weight of the situation hadn't settled in...

He was out. He escaped.

I let the paper fall to the table and remained in shock.

Now—I needed to leave now. I would find that forger and push for the papers if needed but I _would _be leaving.

I was about to grab my violin and cloak then make a run for it but my fingers shook too much to easily grasp the straps. Fighting panic and tears of frustration, I focused on breathing as thought things over rationally—

Shit, he was back!

Wait, no. I needed to calm myself...He didn't know where I was or even if was still alive.

Despite every nagging doubt, I managed to convince myself to stay.

Either I would go home and pace, worry, even breakdown, or I could stay here, earn some money, and have dinner.

A tall man walked by and I paled, my skin prickling with fear until I noticed he had orange hair and green eyes. I breathed out and tried to focus my mind but knew today would be a stressful day.

Not allowing myself to think—after all, I did think too much—I left to play, noting the time was 11:07.

Tie me up in the cellar if you will, Mr. Baker, I was only taking your advice. Right now my heart bled in panic and desperation...or was there a hint of joy and hope—

No, that's not true.

My stomach sank as I felt the unspoken lies melt to ash on my tongue...

Nevermind that, I would calm this feeling, whatever it may be, by playing.

I placed my cloak on the ground and opened my case as I did every morning.

With only slightly unsteady hands, I readied my violin and bow before opting to sit on the waist high, stone wall for my legs were to shaky to properly stand.

I spent a few minutes trying to breathe calmly so my playing wouldn't suffer. Tentatively, I began to warm up with soft, sweet melodies as I slowly let the world drift away, uncaring if I earned any money.

...7:35 pm...

"Libitina, sorry to say it but I'm forcing you into early retirement."

I opened my eyes and stopped playing to find Mr. Baker standing near the stone steps that led up to his shoppe. He gestured around and I noticed there was no crowd. In fact, there was only a man leaning against a tree and parents ushering their children by.

I didn't speak but he continued, "Don't know what's gotten into you today but you've done too much. I'm tempted to empty out the cash register and my entire life savings so you'll stop playing such sad music."

I looked at him slightly startled—

Was I playing a sorrowful tune? I had stopped noticing what I was playing around three o'clock...

"No wonder you aren't speaking, it's freezing out here. Come on in, I'll bend the rules and dish out some stew."

I nodded and slowly lowered my violin and bow as I looked up at the light sky, seemingly purple...Perhaps it would snow tonight.

I closed my eyes and smiled slightly as the wind ran along my skin, stirring my long hair although I paid it no mind. I sighed then opened my eyes and was about to turn around when I noticed the man who had been leaning against the tree was now not even five feet from me. I paused uncertainly as he neared me until there was only two feet between us.

My skin prickled with an uneasy feeling before he raised his hand and revealed a thick wad of cash. I remained tense until he opened his palm to hold out the money to me again while remaining silent, his beret down too low for me to fully see his face.

Slowly, I shifted so I held the neck of my violin and the frog of my bow in one hand and tentatively reached for the money. Just before I was about to touch the cash, he suddenly grabbed my wrist with a tight grip that I knew would bruise. He looked up so I was able to see his—

No.

My breathing hitched painfully as I stared with painfully wide eyes into the pale blue, threatening gaze of my former psychiatrist, Dr. Crane.

He pulled my shaking hand closer to him so I was less than a foot away from him. I trembled with fear as he spoke in his soothing yet terrifying voice, "Don't ever come here again."

My legs felt weak and my head heavy but I tried to keep my composure long enough to pass out somewhere else, that is if he let me—

What did he want? Why was I not dead or screaming in fear?

Tears prickled at my eyes as he continued to look at me with a dark but calm expression.

"Libitina, is that man bothering you?" Mr. Baker asked in a slightly threatening voice.

Dr. Crane didn't even spare him a glance as his eyes pressed into mine for a moment longer before he left, releasing the tight grip he kept on my wrist. I numbly let my hand fall to my side, the wad of cash in my grasp.

"Libitina, are you alright?" Mr. Baker asked once more and I said nothing but numbly kneeled to put away the cash I earned today, too shocked to react properly. Amid folding the bills, I came across the wad of cash...

I thumbed through the stack—Where did he get so much money?! There had to be a thousand or so with all these fifty and hundred dollar bills. With shaky hands, I put away my violin and bow cleaning them as best as I was able. I stood and put on my cloak then gave Mr. Baker a sad look.

"Goodnight, Mr. Zoller," and with that I turned to quickly walk into the dark shadows of the night, expecting Dr. Crane to appear any moment with a straightjacket and new arsenal of poisons.

I made it to the entrance of the park before a silver car pulled up and stopped in front of my path.

I stopped cold in my tracks then started to move around it but the driver's door opened and Dr. Crane, now without the beret, walked around the car and toward me. I started to back away but my legs were shaking too much to make decent progress.

"Don't try to run, _Libitina._"

I froze and looked down at the ground feeling fear rapidly shoot through my chest, poisoning my limbs with a sudden weakness, and filling my mind with a numb sense of dread.

He roughly grabbed my arm and all but dragged me to the car as I stumbled along, unsure of how to react. I needed to run...but then why did my head feel so tight and my body so heavy?

He opened the backseat door then forced me inside before I could make up my mind on whether to fight or comply. My head hit the roof and the landing jarred my violin case but instead of closing the door he started to climb into the car as well. I was starting to regain my focus as the tight space and his nearing body registered in my mind.

I shrugged off my violin's strap to move better as I was about to lunge—

He pressed me into the car's seats so my right arm painfully hit a bag—

Wait, wasn't that my bag from the Victorian house?!

He pressed a slightly wet cloth to my face which I recoiled from as I tried to fight him off. While I struggled, he kept me still and soon enough I had to breathe which forced the sharp, dizzying smell of ammonia into my lungs.

The sensation was overwhelming and painful but just before I lost consciousness he removed the rag.

Weakly, I grabbed at his casual button up shirt determined to speak, "Y-You're here now..." I closed my eyes and almost lost consciousness but not before mumbling, "...and that's good."

Then it was dark.


	36. Chapter 6: Arkham, Again?

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank my wonderful readers and reviewers for an outpour of comments that warmed my heart! **

**Next I would like to get into some matters concerning chapters and treats! For one, this chapter is short-ish but also early (I recently (and temporaily) came into possession of a hotspot and decided to post early since the rising tidal wave of tests this week is sure to crush me by friday) and I hope you all enjoy the changes made and grow eager to learn of the ones to come-yeah, next chapter is VERY fun ^-^**

**Secondly, my Halloween treat is off to a good start, I'm sure you'll experience great humor and horror upon reading it! **

**Yet before I go into my disclaimer I have exciting news! My wonderful Megamind and I filmed an impromptu, totally random music-video with Megamind cosplaying Dr. Crane and myself cosplaying Revis awhile go but now the video is uploaded to you-tube as "Dr. Crane and Revis" by "RoseLacedPaint". Some halirous tidbits of information include the fact that Megamind is 5 foot exactly whereas I am somewhere between 5"6' and 5"7 (it's been awhile since I've measured myself), so half the time the heights are out of order but shhh...The video is funny-and the bloopers even moreso!-and includes sneak-peaks into scenes from the story that are yet to come.**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

I came to without any sort of grogginess or aches, just sudden awareness—but awareness of what?

I blinked, tentatively rubbing my eyes as I willed the dark yet glowing room into focus. My night vision was a hindering ability at best, usually scaring me more than anything and tonight there was no exception.

Instead of a creeping darkness that seemed to devour me, I saw strange blotched patterns in the shadows that even showed on the far wall which seemed to glow an eerie blue green...

I rubbed my eyes again and gently exhaled yet upon looking up most of the strange patterns disappeared and so did the blue green light, now I saw a sliver of normal light under the door.

This was a different cell than I was used to…

For one, it was larger and the bed actually felt like a bed should. I doubt I was upgraded on account of my nonexistent 'good behavior'.

I attempted to stand but suddenly fell to the ground, hitting my knees harshly. The shock knocked the breath from me and for a moment I simply kneeled, my hands on the floor to break my fall, while most of my long hair fell into my vision. Then I felt the head rush and cautiously backed up. I tried to take a step but almost fell again.

Furrowing my brows in a mixture of confusion and fear, I felt down my leg and—

What was that? Were those...shackles?

My eyes widened even though I was unable to see any clearer. I felt along the restraint and my suspicion was confirmed. Thick leather bindings wound around my right ankle, the heavy buckle was cold and for a moment I wondered why the rest of my body was unbound. In my time in solitary, I hadn't been bound so carelessly—Come to think of it, I was rarely bound at all.

I immediately began to unclasp the leather restraint when I paused...

What if I was supposed to free myself?

The guards weren't filed with abuse reports if inmates were a danger to themselves or others and while I was more confused than violent at the moment, I would be 'escaping' and that would induce some brutality. Curiously, I felt along my restraint and followed the thick chain down a ways. That's odd it seemed to lead _under_ the bed.

As I felt along the surely empty area I touched something warm and breathing.

I gasped, drawing back, but I needn't have worried for whatever it was it shot out from under the bed and tackled me into the ground.

I screamed deeply as the thing attacked me.

I attempted to push it off but I only heard horrible grunting, gasping noises as it pressed into me. I screamed again then turned over and vainly tried to pull myself away while trying to protect myself from the _thing_. Sobs rose from my throat as the panic of the situation overcame me.

Instantly, the light came on and I was blinded.

Suddenly, the _thing_ was gone and I was sprawled out along the floor, every part of me as far away from the bed as my bindings would allow. Then two men, masked with the usual guard's gear, entered the room and spoke back and forth in a strange code.

Finally one spoke, "What seems to be the problem here?"

I looked up at them in disbelief, "The _thing_ it attacked me! Quick it's under the bed!"

The second guard laughed, "Great, now we're getting paid shitty money to check for boogeymen under the beds."

Something didn't feel right about this...

They neared me and the first one spoke up, "How did you get out of your restraints? Were you trying to escape?"

The second guard chuckled, "Guess she's a danger to the facility, trying to escape and all..."

The first guard caught on, "Yeah, I guess you're right."

I sat up and stood against the bed, which indeed had four other restraints of the usual kind on each corner.

I shook my head and dug my nails into the mattress, "W-Why would I scream if I wanted to escape? And what's with this—" I broke off to gesture to my leg.

"Shut up, freak!" the second guard said, sharply hitting me.

My eyes were wide with panic as the blow left my cheek numb. The first guard joined in but he hit my stomach causing me to wheeze painfully for air while fighting nausea. They continued to beat me while I numbly bent over in pain, unable to stand properly for both fear of their violence and the chain.

Weakly, I fell to my knees to cough up blood as the second guard grabbed my long hair in his gloved hand and pulled sharply so my head ached while I stared into the odd mask like contraption all high security guards wore.

"She ain't bad lookin' for a crazy bitch."

My skin felt chilled.

Oh no. Please, anything but this...

"Cut it out you know the boss will kill ya if you try—"

The second guard laughed and pulled on my hair once more, "He won't know..."

The second guard pulled down his zipper yet upon acting on the once buried reflex, I lunged forward to headbutt him in his stomach. He tightened his grip on my hair as he fell causing me to fall along with him. I landed painfully, my leg twisting with my arms underneath me.

Not caring about the pain, I wrestled my arms out from under me and straddled the man as best I could with one leg useless. Without waiting for his retaliation, I tightly squeezed the area just under his chin. Applying all my pressure to the slightly ribbed texture of his trachea, I felt it bend beneath my hands.

_Shit! I never thought the bitch would catch me off guard. Ugh, I swear the next time I see her I'm gonna shove my cock down her throat so hard she'll bleed._

_ Nngh, stupid cunt, her hair's like a fucking spider's web._

He gurgled and tried let go of my hair to attempt to free himself but I tightened my grip further.

_Ahh! Fuck!_

At this point the first guard hit me with the butt of his gun causing me to fall over and rest toward the wall as I tried to distance myself from both the bed and those guards. The first guard helped the second guard up as they limped to the door, knowing I was restrained.

What they didn't know was I could easily escape.

When my head stopped spinning, I quickly unstrapped the leather binding then ran, limping at first, toward the door. I managed to push past the men and run into the hallway.

I was escaping—Wait, didn't I already?

I frowned while running down the long hallway...

I-I-Why was I here?

I had been ignoring the question since I awoke, fearing any panic that might surface from too much thought...but now, the memory came back.

I had a fight with Dr. Crane in his office that lead to many things, tears, anger, fear, but ended with the room in a disastrous state.

Later that night, I escaped through the 'carelessly unlocked' door of my cell while Ernest checked through the lab with backup, actually entering the moment Dr. Crane was about to leave the lab.

As if that wasn't enough evidence, he held detailed files, going over his experiments and different formulas for his toxins. In the rush of the arrest in which he actually gassed a few guards, I slipped into the night, hoping to leave before anyone noticed I was gone.

That was what I remembered but now...I was in Arkham. This didn't make any sense!

I made a sharp turn but froze as I realized there weren't any other patients here.

What was going on?

I heard the sound of heavy boots running behind me so I quickly opened the first door—Shit, it was locked!

I tried the others—Damn, were they all locked?

I saw the mask of a guard just over the edge of the corner before I tried the last door and thankfully it opened.

I rushed inside breathing heavily before looking around the room to see—

No...

Dr. Crane stood from behind his desk and raised an eyebrow but before he could speak the guards burst through the room and took my arms before I could try to fight.

Dr. Crane spoke in a concerned yet detached voice, "What seems to be the problem here?"

"Er, sorry about that, boss. She got out of hand," one of the guards replied.

"Leave her here. After all, she took the trouble of finding my office so why bother with sending her away again?"

The guards exchanged looks before pushing me forward.

I froze, unsure of what to do.

This...This wasn't happening. I escaped.

"Please, take a seat," he asked but made no move to sit down himself.

I looked him in the eye, "No."

He raised an eyebrow then leaned against his desk causally, "Very well then…What has you so bothered, Revis?"

How is this happening? It's too painful to be a dream...

I ignored his question complete as I stood, my mind racing, trying to understand what's happened.

"Revis?"

"Don't..." I said quietly.

"Pardon?" he asked in a cocky way.

I exhaled roughly, "_Don't_ pretend you don't know what's going on..."

I clenched my fists at my side trying to rationalize this...

I was about to leave to Canada, I couldn't be back in Arkham—My heart stuttered as I slowly lowered myself to the floor leaning against the arm of the chair.

I was in Arkham...

No, Arkham had closed down—

I was in Dr. Crane's office...

No, I had him arrested. I escaped. I-I—

I heard him walk forward until he was only a few feet from me, "And what would that be?"

I swallowed, unable to come up with an answer, unable to do anything but lifelessly stare at my hands—

My hands.

I held them up closer and rubbed my thumb over my left index and middle finger...

Callouses. Callouses from playing the violin.

This wasn't real.

I stood and looked him in his cold, blue eyes, "This isn't real."

He sighed and gave me a sympathetic look made clearer without his glasses, "Not this again...Revis this _is_ real. You _are_ in Arkham. After the electroconvulsive therapy began, I had thought you'd make progress but it seems you're in need of a stronger dose..."

I shot up, "Electro—No, you're wrong!"

I held up my left hand, "These callouses came from my violin, I've been playing for almost a year—"

"Where would you find a violin in Arkham? If there are in fact any callouses they might have been caused from any number of things. You have to understand while this is painful and confusing it's made with your best interest in mind."

I shook my head then jumped as he placed a hand on my shoulder, "I'm only trying to help you..."

I shook my head but slower this time.

He pulled me into his arms and I froze.

He was touching me...

No, this was wrong. I needed to leave.

I tried to pull away but he ran his hand down my hair, carefully avoiding tangling his hand in the unruly mess.

Instantly, I relaxed and leaned against him.

I was in Arkham; I was with him; I was safe.


	37. Chapter 7: Turn Off The Lights

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all you fantastic readers and reviewers for following my humble yet demented story! Your words always fill me with cheer and have me smiling like a maniac to the dismay of those around me(especially in public)!**

**Now for this chapter I based one scene off of "The Ward" a 2010 movie directed by John Carpenter, so if it seems familiar that's why. Also the movie is quite fantastic, a good thrill on a dull night if anyone is interested-Not to mention some psychological tidbits that might be fun. **

**Oh and your Halloween treat is nearly complete! I predict with a day of serious writing I'll have it finished and ready to chill anyone who is curious enough to read it. I hope you'll all enjoy the insight into my own life...and consquently the disturbing possibilities that may come of a demented writer if she should ever stumble upon a man who resembles an equally malicious psychiatrst in almost every way...Well that's enough of a sneak peak, I'll have it posted on the 31st for anyone who is interested.**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

Scrrcch...

Scrrcch...

Scrrcch...

Scrrcch...

I opened my eyes quickly yet fear kept me frozen in place.

Scrrcch...

Scrrcch...

I tried to muffle my quickened breathing as the sound neared me yet the prickling sensation of being watched remained; the hairs on the back of my neck rose as I felt a source of chilling cold fall over me...

Scrrcch...

Scrrcch...

There was silence...

My heart pounded in my throat as the terror washed over me. Barely moving, I looked over my shoulder to find—

AHHH!

…

"Is she going to be alright?" a tentative voice asked.

"She will be once we administer the treatment," I heard Dr. Crane respond.

"Do you know what you're doing, boss?"

"Shh, she's waking up—Hello Revis..."

I blearily opened my eyes—

Ugh, the walls were so bright or was that the ceiling?

"What is the last thing you remember?"

I tried to find Dr. Crane for surely it was his voice I was hearing but I was unable to see anything aside from the bright glare of the tall ceiling.

"Revis?"

I closed my eyes before opening them once more, "S-Scarecrow..."

"Pity, it seems we'll have to continue the treatment."

Something wet yet thick was rubbed on either side of my temple. I furrowed my eyebrows wishing the sensation away but it persisted as the gel, oil, or whatever it was remained on my temples.

"Here you are now..." a thick wad of rolled up cotton was placed in front of my mouth. I pulled away from the itchy, warm fabric but Dr. Crane continued to speak, "Open your mouth so you don't bite off your tongue. After all, we wouldn't want you to swallow it."

I tried to turn my head away but suddenly hands were touching me—

_Wonder what sort of crazy shit this guy does normally. _

_I mean, he pays well but I don't feel right about torturing such a pretty woman...Well, a __dangerous woman. I mean she almost killed—_

"Don't touch her—"

"But...Boss you wanted her to—"

In my moment of confusion Dr. Crane wrestled my jaw open although his hands felt strange—was he wearing gloves(?)—and unceremoniously stuffed the cotton wad into my mouth. I gagged at the dusty, mealy taste but found myself unable to move my arms.

Why hadn't I thought of that before?

I pulled on my restraints but the effort was futile.

"Most sessions are done with sedation in order to reduce the risk of broken bones and the like but these restraints are quite a pleasant alternative—Don't you agree, Revis?"

There were odd noises around me and while I knew they were preparing for something, I couldn't think of what—I couldn't even cry out.

Something else touched my temples, a light yet firm presence.

"Are you ready, Revis?"

I heard something click above my head before—

Blank.

My mind was wiped **blank** by the coursing shock.

Involuntarily, I tensed all my muscles, even my toes curled painfully.

I didn't register I had sprung off the bed only held down by my restraints until I stared at the man holding something to my head—

My eyes rolled back into my head as the feeling coursing through me increase—

…

"Was she supposed to pass out like that?" the same voice as before asked.

"I don't care, the bitch almost killed me," a newer, gruff voice replied.

"Aren't those treatments illegal these days?"

"What do you care? Before she was flipping a bitch over boogeymen in her room and now she's docile as a lamb."

I was laid down on a bed or so I assumed from the cushioned texture but my mind was too fuzzy to make out greater details.

"I think we should tie her up," the lighter, hesitant voice suggested.

"Why bother?" the gruff voice replied.

I opened my eyes slightly to look at the gruff voiced man...

He was dirty. He had stubble all over his face and hate in his eyes.

Dirty, dirty men.

"Look, she's waking up. Do you want to drag her everywhere when she panics? Just help me tie her up and—"

"Do what you want, I'm out of it. I better get paid—"

"Boss said not to talk about our job when we're around her."

I struggled to focus my eyes but felt too weak to do much of anything. Faintly, I registered a pulling sensation on my arms and legs but didn't pay too much attention to it. Giving into my exhaustion, I closed my eyes and fell into a deep slumber.

….

"Nicole..."

"Nicole..."

I tried to roll over and shield my ears from the horrible voice that sounded of crumbling city and the screams of burning hope but I found I was unable to move. More alert although still groggy, I pulled at my restraints. I even tried to slide my hands down far enough to twist them around in order to untie the binding leather but it was in vain.

"Nicole..."

The voice was as quiet as a whisper but chills broke out on my skin as if someone had screamed in my ear.

I turned my head as best as I was able to see some figure in the shadows.

My heart rate sped up as I recognized the melting face—or was it a face? Surely there had to be _some_ organs behind the singed burlap and stuffed straw of the creature.

I knew struggling would be useless and I was defenseless but I still tried to think of ways to—

Was it moving?

Sure enough, the creature stiffly stood as if it had sticks for arms and legs; a terrible odor filled the room.

Rotting flesh, intestinal fluids, and the like were familiar smells to me but this...this was something fowl that felt like hot, thick sludge was being poured into my nostrils with each sharp breath I took.

Don't scream. Don't scream. Don't scream. Don't scream.

The creature extended a hooked hand to me.

If anything, the sight was disturbing as the spidery fingers moved jerkily, almost mechanically.

I was unprepared as the creature slowly walked toward me. Although the floors were padded, there seemed to be a squeaking then suction like noise as the thing made its journey to the bed.

Suddenly, its face was mere inches from mine.

I was frozen with fear as tears fell on either side of my face without my notice.

Don't scream. Don't scream. Don't scream. Don't scream.

The creature opened its mouth and—

AHHH!

The lights switched on and the creature disappeared but I was unable to stop screaming. I screamed and struggled against the bindings until I was hoarse and flushed from exertion.

Panting, almost whimpering, I struggled to find my mind.

What was happening? Those monsters—

Chills ran over my skin like tiny hooks of doubt cutting into my sanity, slowly tearing it apart with each sinister tug. My mind was washed asunder by the dizzying effect of abating fear but I tried to remember something, **anything**.

Monsters...There were monsters here.

Not just the staff at Arkham or the other inmates who I haven't seen as I've been in isolation, but actual creatures...but they only appeared when the lights were off.

The door to my cell opened and Dr. Crane stepped through.

I felt tears prickle at my eyes but I tried to keep my composure in front of him.

"I was called here immediately once the guards notified me you were out of control. What happened?"

I clenched my eyes and shook my head as tears escaped on either side of my face once more.

"Revis, you can tell me anything you like."

I didn't open my eyes but I managed to choke out something that mildly resembled a sentence, "T-There were, there were..." I shook my head, "Don't turn off the lights. Please, don't turn off the lights."

He sighed and I opened my eyes trying to blink away my tears so I would be able to see him clearly—

Why wasn't he wearing his glasses?

"The budget cuts on Arkham are distressing enough but even if we could afford to run the lights during your entire stay, it would hardly be productive to your treatment."

I sobbed, "N-No you don't understand. _Don't_ turn off the lights."

He sighed and licked his lips before addressing me again in a condescending tone, "Now Revis, aren't you a bit old to be afraid of the boogeyman under the bed?"

I tried to glare at him but my anger quickly turned to desperation, "They're here. If you turn off the lights and you stay in here, they'll come."

He gave me a dry, sardonic look that normally would have me blushing with humiliation but it didn't faze me, "Stay in here and turn off the lights, you'll see them too!"

He pinched the bridge of his nose before responding, "You're hardly making any sense. One moment you want the lights on and the next—"

"**Turn. Off. The. Lights.**" I said in a cold voice as I tried to mentally convey the importance of what I was trying to tell him with the intensity of my stare.

He kept his face blank, "Very well then," he walked to the door and paused, "I suppose it would only be beneficial for you to face your fears."

Without another word he stepped out of the room.

"No wait!" I called out once more pulling at the bindings but all too soon I was plunged in darkness.

I closed my eyes tightly, trying to wish away all sensations.

It wasn't dark; I merely had my eyes closed.

I felt a hot breeze settle throughout—

Was that mist?

I relaxed my eyelids...

No!

I squeezed them close tightly.

I wouldn't open my eyes.

An itching feeling spread throughout my body as something brushed against me—

No, block it out. It wasn't real. It wasn't real—

Wait, why did this feel familiar?

I frowned but a sharp tang of metal enveloped my taste buds as cold steel rested on my tongue.

Ignoring the impulse to struggle or open my eyes, I kept myself as still as possible, clenching my jaw even as the sharp metal cut its way through my mouth.

Shit! The pain, it hurts—

No, focus. This wasn't real—

Then what was it?

The metal hit the back of my throat through my closed mouth but continued to mark it up.

I gagged and sputtered but only succeeded in tearing my mouth apart.

Don't scream—

Why would I? It's not real. It's not real.

I opened my eyes as the sharp metal went through the back of my throat and—

Suddenly, I couldn't feel my body.

Dammit my eyes were open, why couldn't I close my eyes? The fact that I could breathe, even if I had(?) severed my spinal cord meant that I should still be able to control my eyes.

Fuck, I needed to close my eyes before—

Mist, red mist...

I stared wordlessly at the red mist that filled the air.

What was this? If it was dark how would I be able to see red mist?

A feeling of revulsion hit my stomach as I realized that wasn't mist...it was eyes.

Eyes that glowed red; mist that was saliva—

Then what was...

Was the metal was a funnel?!

I tried to close my eyes to block out the sight but they remained open. I was paralyzed as the rats lined up and began to crawl into my mouth, one by one, undoubtedly chewing through my organs in order to make room as they burrowed deeper inside...


	38. Chapter 8: A Splendored Thing

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all you wonderful readers and reviewers for following my humble yet demented story throughout its twists and moments of confusion-Hopefully I can clear some of that up with this update!**

**Speaking of which, this chapter has a few points I'd like to explain. While not obviously said, the majority of Revis' memory loss stems from the Electroconvulsive Therapy and seeing as I haven't undergone the treatment myself (and I hope I'll never have to x.x) I've relied on testimonies from those who _have_ and I learned that memory loss may persist for a week or so at the least then return but any long-term gaps are simply gone. If I'm wrong then please correct me, it won't interfere with the story but I'd like to be as accurate as possibe within my writing. Another note on accuracy, the violence in the chapter is all based off of creative speculation due to my lack of expertise in these matters.**

**Secondly, I used exerpts from "Miss Lucy Had Some Leeches" by Emilie Autumn, the song is quite awesome and paced to a clapping game if anyone is interested in a bit of morbid fun.**

**Oh and as for my Halloween treat, it _was _complete but after reviewing it with the utmost unsatisfication I decided to make MANY revisions and the semi-oneshot will now be around 4-5 moderately sized chapters due the complexity in the plot and a desire to thoroughly disturb everyone and get a few laughs while I'm at it.**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8<strong>

...Days Later...

"Hey bitch, it's time for dinner," the gruff guard said while opening the door to my cell and shuffling inside.

It's been light for a few hours now...or was it seconds? Either way I was glad the beasts were gone...although I was beginning to miss the nightly terror. It seemed wrong if I wasn't lulled to sleep by a hoarse throat and the crushing headache derived from screaming.

I always did enjoy the strangest of things. But then again, I was contradicting...Perhaps the fear would be welcome now?

Nevermind that, I had company.

I looked at him solemnly.

"Cut it out freak, just take your grub and I'll leave."

I raised an eyebrow at him mockingly.

"What?"

"Unless you intend to spoon feed me, I suggest you untie me."

He cursed then spat and placed the tray on the ground before nearing me cautiously. He started with my legs then quickly untied my arms although he seemed to fumble with the bindings a bit.

He seemed awfully awkward around medical equipment and procedures for a guard...

I sat up achingly and waited for the proper blood flow to circulate.

"What are you waitin' for? Dig in," he snapped, clearly uneasy around me.

He was probably instructed to stay and watch me eat to ensure my 'health' although he was a bit tense for the job most guards seemed bored with.

I smiled sweetly, "Being tied up for days with only a few breaks has left me drained, would you be so kind as to hand the tray to me?"

He snorted, "Do I look like a butler to you?"

I didn't waver in my sweet smile so he spat again, _on _the food I noticed, then held out the tray.

I suppose Arkham was well prepared, even the trays were Styrofoam...Then again, they were stupid enough to serve me some lumpy perversion of soup.

Ignoring his impatient shuffling, I reached out a hand but instead of accepting the tray, I grabbed the Styrofoam cup, surprisingly steaming, and jerked my wrist so the watery soup flew into his face. If the temperature wasn't enough, the shock of being hit with a form of liquid would have caught him off guard anyway.

As expected, he brought his hands up to his face reflexively letting the tray fly toward the bed as he backed away unsteadily.

Not letting the situation come to an end, I lunged at him and succeeded in tackling him (face first I was happy to note) into the ground while I bashed his head into the floor harshly.

Well I guess I _did_ lie about being drained of strength...

When he was dazed, I reached along the top of his bullet proof vest for the zip ties he kept on his suit. Not wanting to loose time, I bashed his head into the ground once more then managed to tie his wrists together behind his back.

Now the fun could begin.

I smiled although he couldn't see it, "You're truly a miserable human...In fact, I believe there's no need to justify your death—Well that is _when_ you eventually die."

Giggling slightly, I ran my hands along his vest then stripped him of his weapons which consisted of an oddly shaped gun, short pocket knife, and a portable bottle of mouth wash.

What sort of Arkham guard was he?

Oh well, waste not want not...Then again, I didn't want to do anything but waste him.

He started to make some noise although the sputtering threats and muffled curses weren't so intimidating when he was helplessly bound.

Hmm, I think since he's a _dirty, vile _man, he'd benefit from some purging...

I easily heaved him up onto the padded bed after dodging the poorly aimed kicks and secured his legs into the bed's leather bindings. Now his hands would be tricky...

Oh well, there was never something as too much head trauma.

I pocketed the knife but then awkwardly grabbed the gun and held it up.

Hmm, how was I supposed know if it was loaded or at least how to check if it was when I hated guns?

He seemed panicked enough as he squirmed and pleaded in between curses, "Please, please don't," yet when I examined the gun some more then neared him, he changed to threats, "You filthy bitch, I'll kill you myself!"

I tilted my head questioningly, "How do you kill Death?"

His red, sweaty face scrunched up in confusion but I hit him harshly with the butt of the gun. He groaned and I saw my advantage.

Carelessly dropping the gun on the ground, I used the knife to cut the zip ties and easily restrain him with the leather bindings so graciously supplied by the bed.

"Y-You motherfucking," he paused to groan, "Y-You fucker; stupid cunt."

I raised an eyebrow then bent over once more to grab the mouth wash, "Such a dirty man...You've had impure thoughts from the moment we met. Then again, it wasn't too surprising. I could see the filth streaming off you as I choked you...Tell me, what might have possessed you to want to '_shove my cock down her throat so hard she'll bleed' _?"

His eyes widened, "Y-You bitch, how the hell did you know—"

"Oh I know enough..." I smiled down at him then raised the mouth wash, "But it seems you have a lot to learn...I'll leave your ears for last but now I want to focus on those beady little eyes of yours."

"Fuck you!" he yelled and spat on my face.

I glared at him and wiped away the saliva before descending on him. Holding his shoulders down further with one arm, I pocketed the mouth wash within the breast-pocket provided by my jumpsuit in exchange for the pocket knife with the other. With expert skill honed from years of wielding a variety of blades for entertainment, I flipped open the blade and held it in front of his face.

"You see while I have enough courtesy to allow those like 'The Joker' their own creativity, I'm not apart from," I paused trying to think of the appropriate word as I waved the blade in front of his face carelessly, "_applying_ similar methods to my own work."

Whatever question he was about to ask was cut off as I roughly grabbed his chin with one hand and slowly, _deeply_ dragged the knife over his lower lip. He tried to wail but that only stretched the cuts as he jerked under my touch.

I repeated the process on his upper lip with slightly difficult due to blood which filled his mouth and blocked my line of sight. When I was sure the pain would keep him from speaking, I wiped the blade on his sleeve then folded it together and placed it back in my pocket in favor of the mouth wash.

"Now where was I? Oh yes, your eyes..."

Without warning, I placed my hand around his right eye and held the eyelid back while I uncapped the bottle with one hand and steadily poured the liquid into his open eye.

Almost immediately he tried to jerk back, his mouth once more tearing as he yelled, but I kept his eye open to the irritating solution until half the bottle was spent. Allowing the teary, red eye to fester I repeated the process to the other.

This was all just a bit of fooling around—After all, mouth wash in the eye and a split lip wouldn't teach him a lesson...but I'd make sure he'd suffer.

…

I dare say the room was much better this way.

I smiled and felt the drying blood crack along my face (thankfully I wasn't wearing my glasses!).

Broken groaning sounded from the bed, drawing my attention to the nearly dead man who seemed so tired...so hopeless...so deliciously broken.

"P-Pleese, keel me," he spoke through what appeared to be another gurgle of blood as he tried desperately to not move his lips.

I cocked my head, eying the strips of muscle, separated tendons, split joints, and so forth that were spread out like streamers, sprouting from each limb, "Why would I when you'll die within the hour?"

"Pu-pu," odd sputtering noises came in quiet bursts as he tried to beg again.

I traced patterns in the still wet blood decorating the floor but my main focus was the picture I painted on the wall.

I never was talented when it came to art but drawing a scarecrow tied to a post with crows attacking it had been easy enough.

I saw it as a bit of motivation. After all, crows were birds of death and I would be killing the mutated scarecrow that visited me each 'night'.

"How silly of him to think he would escape unscathed, don't you think?" I asked the scarecrow on the wall although he seemed busy being torn apart my crows, "Of course, I took the proper precautions..."

I glanced to him once more noting the tightly tied tourniquets on each limb made from strips of the man's clothing. The body would conserve blood and energy to maintain the vital parts of it and while limbs were used to hunt, escape, and build, the torso and head were essential and therefore my experiment was conducted without a hitch.

Yet there was so much blood I decided to have a little fun and decided to decorate the room in the cooling, thin liquid. Sadly, the bright colour dried to the shade of rust, but there was so much of it I had time to continue playing in it. I giggled slightly as the scene reminded me of a song I knew long ago...How did go again?

For awhile I sat trying to remember then began to clap out a rhythm as I sang happily to the song I committed to memory as a teenager.

"_Mentally hysteric_

_ She's failed the exam..._

_ Don't bother telling Lucy for_

_ She doesn't give a—_

I cut off and quickly changed the rhyme again as I tilted my head to the side and continued to carry on with the song by clapping in time.

_ "Damn that Nitrous Oxide._

_ For when you can't escape_

_ They say the surgeons oft commit_

_ A murder or a—"_

My memory suddenly deserted me, causing me to frown then pick up in another section of the song which I _did_ remember.

"_Madness is a nuisance._

_ And no one is immune._

_ Your sister, mum, or daughter,_

_ May become a raving—_

_Lunatics are dangerous. _

_ And doctors are obeyed._

_ They also go together—"_

"Oh God!"

I glowered while opening my eyes as I noticed the door to my cell was open and Dr. Crane stood there with a blank face (without glasses I noted) while the man behind him seemed pale and continued to whisper religious nonsense.

"How creative..." Dr. Crane remarked tightly.

I stared at him curiously, "If you are referring to the song it's actually from an artist I listened to when I was younger..." I trailed off then looked at the wall, "Yet if you're commenting on the wall, it's nothing too impressive..."

He glanced at the wall only to tighten his jaw and stare back at me with a hard gaze, "And if I'm addressing the mutilated body tied to the bed?"

I shrugged, "I suppose there was some merit found in the experiment but apart from the slight puzzle of unwinding his anatomy while keeping him alive but it was quite dull. Then again, with these utterly _lacking_ resources it's not too disappointing..."

Dr. Crane blinked, surprised, "He's alive?"

"Pu-pu," the man struggled to speak again as Dr. Crane stepped aside to allow the other guard who rushed in about to help yet froze gagging on the smell before he threw up in a corner.

I frowned distastefully at him as he dry heaved then looked to Dr. Crane, "My, my, standards in guards certainly have been lowered...I mean, you would think they'd let _anyone_ take the job with the way these two acted."

Dr. Crane looked at me sharply, "I believe it would be best if you came with me."

I stood allowing the blood to flake off my stained uniform while fresher blood dripped from my fingers, "Wouldn't that compromise your office's 'pristine standard'?"

He pulled on my arm sharply so I was barely a foot away from him. My breathing hitched as I stared into his chilling gaze unable to speak.

He spoke in an unidentifiable voice, "I never claimed we were journeying to my office."

He roughly dragged me out the door and into the hallway.

I dragged my feet in and pushed against his arm causing him to stop and look at me with a warning look.

I frowned at him, "I've had enough."

He didn't reply so I continued.

"I'm tired of caring, tired of fearing, tired of trying...So I've decided to stop."

He furrowed his eyebrows, "You tortured a man, painted a mural on the wall with his _blood,_ then sat in the gore to sing a dark song; whatever it is you think you may accomplish, I doubt it's working."

I shook my head then paused as I looked around, "Where are the other guards?"

"What are you rambling about now, Revis?" he asked clearly irked by my change in conversation.

I looked around again...Something was off about this.

"The guards...If I so much as lunged at someone I would be restrained, sedated, and left to rot of a few days in solitary confinement but now...nothing."

I was momentarily distracted as Dr. Crane pulled me along the hallway again, "Nonsense—"

I pulled back once more, slowing his pace but I was unable to stop him entirely, "No listen, something's not right—"

"Your paranoia, as always, proves to be a hindering pestilence to your logic—"

"Will you stop?!" I jerked back violently, using the same level of force I used on others yet hid whenever dealing with him.

I managed to slip through his grasp long enough to raise the knife I kept in my shirt's pocket and hold it to my throat.

His eyes widened before his face grew blank once more, "Revis—"

I cut him off while furrowing my eyebrows, "No, this is my point. I would have been searched for a weapon and rendered immobile. Right now you'd be secretly trying to signal the security and I'd have a horde of guards at my back instead of a spineless fool vomiting up his lung while his 'companion' bled out."

I lightly drew the blade across my skin, only adding enough pressure to split my skin yet as the blood dripped down Dr. Crane held out a hand to me.

"Hand me the knife, Revis."

I looked into his eyes deeply, "No."

"Revis, there's an explanation—"

I smiled and tilted my head which split the skin further. In fact, the leaking blood sort of tickled...

"No, like I said I've had enough. Death may never die but the tools of death are expendable."

Many things happened at once.

I drew the blade sharply against my throat while Dr. Crane reached out to both pull my long hair back and hold the arm with the knife. I was thrown off balance which caused me to fall and let go of the knife as he wrestled me into the ground.

Before I could, he held me against the ground tightly, breathing heavily, "You're not allowed to kill yourself," I struggled vainly as he pressed into me, "You're life is in my hands, Revis. This is for your safety."

I laughed hollowly and lay still beneath him, "When did 'helping me' include lying—"

He tightened his grip causing me to take a sudden breath of air at the pain.

"Don't question me," he said in a dark voice.

I looked into his icy eyes and tried to fight the rising feelings that continued to tether me to him.

I didn't want this—The dark scared me out of fear but left behind my feelings.

I relaxed into his touch and laid my head down on the hard ground to stare at the wall while I let him pin me as he reached into his suit. In a twisted way this was the closest to being openly embraced as I would ever experience. I hadn't longed for another or even felt the stirrings of lust for years, especially after Lucius...and yet I found myself bleeding my heart over with unrequited lo—No, I wasn't that far gone...

I was unable to pull him closer so I closed my eyes and pretended I was somewhere safe and far away from Arkham...

Somewhere nice, like a warm house near a rainy forest...

And inside that house, I was laying down with him in a window seat, leaning back into his embrace—I smiled as his arms tightened around my waist. This was nice, it was home...

"Revis..." there it was again, that dark warning.

I opened my eyes only to find my vision blurring as I stared at a standing Dr. Crane.

Why was he up so high? Did I fall off the window seat?

He sighed, "It seems you've developed a slight resistance to the narcotic..."

Reality came crashing down as I realized that was a distant dream, a foolish dream. He would never see me as anything but a nuisance and I would never be free of this torturous lo—feeling.

So what happened? Wait, he said _narcotic_—Did he drug me?!

I blushed from humiliation and tried to stand up but I could barely move. I struggled to raise myself off the floor but panted from the exertion as I collapsed again. I felt him stand over me before he reached down to wrap his arms around me in a tight, restraining hold.

Despite my struggle to fight down the rising feelings I was once more swept away in his touch. That dark, cloying energy...the addicting feel of exhilarating fear and danger...

No, I remembered why I left. I was unable to hide these betraying feelings—

Wait I left...then why was I here?

Cold logic washed over me like the freezing baths I took each morning at the old Victorian house.

I remembered Dr. Crane, he _was_ there.

He...There was a car—

Why couldn't I remember?

I felt him shift and pull me up before dragging me to the end of the hallway.

Without another word, he opened a door while balancing me in one arm. By the time he managed to straighten me up although I was mostly leaning on him, he was slightly out of breath. I tried to look into his eyes one last time but he pushed me into the dark room where I fell, unable to break my fall while he closed the door behind me.

...

Darkness...

My eyes hadn't adjusted to the light yet but I was hardly worried about 'boogeymen' in the dark.

No, if anything, I would be ready when the scarecrow came. How I was to fight off the creature while I was barely able to lift my head, I was unsure of but my bravado didn't fade. As I said, I was done...

I knew this wasn't real or right.

In fact, it was because I was unable to descend into the person I was in Arkham before, because I couldn't slip into a defensive, raging personality that I figured out the lie. Of course, not all the answers were known but at least I was closer to the truth than before.

If I were to fall into the same behavioral mannerisms I used upon arriving to Arkham, I would be lost in the web of lies; to fear acting out against Dr. Crane, to hate those around me, to desire freedom while barely clinging to sanity, trying to function in Arkham by creating a destructive defense mechanism...I would have been lost.

I've been through many things in my life so much that I felt both burdened and liberated.

I smiled.

Well there was that contradicting factor usually present in my life.

I was weighed down by my past traumas, weary of others, broken and scared...but I was also free. It barely made sense to myself but because I stopped fighting, because I ceased to struggle, I was free.

Lashing out at others made no sense when I could cooperate. Sure I was terrified but since I accepted it, I was beyond fear. While I was bound to Arkham, I had my will. Not the will to lash out but the will to endure...and, of course, Dr. Crane helped—Or did he?

I remembered my life, a little over a year of living in an abandoned house, months of having close to nothing to eat, suffering mild frostbite on my fingers while I spent my days obsessively relearning the violin in the uninsulated, freezing Victorian house.

I remembered the feeling of desperation and the initial fear of performing as the harsh names sent my way whenever I tried to play in front of a store. I remembered my utter despair and moments of suicidal thoughts, yet I also recalled Mr. Baker.

Truthfully, he caught me pawing through the garbage of his cafe but instead of hitting or hollering he asked me to come inside for a decent cup of tea. The next morning, I began to play in front of his cafe for food in a sort of partnership.

Yet things weren't always easy. I've had trash thrown at me, some greedy teenagers have actually _stolen_ the money I earned. I've even had hoses turned against me from angry neighboring shoppes.

Then slowly things began to look up and as the money increased (along with my song selection and skill), I sought out a forger. In the ending months, things seemed almost golden. Angry shoppe patrons merely glared through windows while large crowds gathered to watch me play instead of passively observe while I was beaten into the ground. I was almost free, merely two days from my new identity, when Dr. Crane entered my life.

The next events were blurred as I recalled more of the soul wrenching _fear_ than anything else but I awoke to find myself back in Arkham with my sociopath psychiatrist in pristine condition. He claimed to have been helping me but how was it that I remembered something else entirely? Also he seemed to have changed...

He looked slightly haggard, his cheekbones more noticeable, not to mention the utter lack of glasses—and mine as well.

I didn't understand this. Wherever I was it wasn't Arkham, with the utterly pathetic 'guards' and lack of authenticity it clear to see. Yet wherever I was, Dr. Crane was in control...

I wanted to believe he was helping me...but more than that I wanted to believe he cared.

I found myself able to move slightly when I was able to shakily push myself off the ground into a crouched siting position.

I wanted him to care for me, to keep me safe, and maybe...to look at me with something akin to lo—acceptance.

Absentmindedly, I stroked the cold surface of the floor...was that tile? More curious than frightened I felt along my surroundings until I unsteadily crawled/dragged myself to what seemed to be a wall of tile.

Was I in a bathroom?

At times, I would be untied and escorted to a tiled room for either a shower or bathroom break...That's right the 'solitary confinement' didn't have a toilet, sink, or anything apart from that bed.

Well, I was already filthy, a shower would do me good.

Blindly, I felt up the wall and continued to drag/crawl until I felt a metal knob. Holding my breath, I turned it sharply allowing lukewarm water to fall atop my head.

After getting over the initial shock and sputtering for air. I rubbed against my skin and uniform, hoping some of the blood would come off. My hair proved to be a hassle as it fell over my head like a wet, tangled net. Eventually, I found a way to gather all my hair then flip it back. While I ended up with a face full of water, I thought of my actions as a victory.

As my muscles gained more strength, I woozily stood although I was too tired and cautious to try walking on such a slippery surface. Yet from this position I could roughly scrub the rest of my body through my clothes. The utter lack of soap or light made the endeavor slightly hopeless but I didn't mind.

As the water grew colder, my thoughts wandered...

Here I was in the dark, as I have been for awhile, standing in a wet area with water cascading down and yet nothing has happened. There were no feelings of paranoia, chills, odd flashes, slight sounds, nothing...

What changed?

My teeth began to chatter which brought my attention to the now frigid feeling of the water but I found myself unable to move.

What was different?

Here I was weak, cold, wet, and vulnerable and yet nothing emerged from the shadows.

Amid my shaking my stomach growled. Shocked I looked down but only succeeded in getting a mouthful of cold water. Wiping my mouth I then reflected on the meal I missed because I attacked the guard—

Was there something in the food?

_ "You _drug_ your cafeteria food?"_

_He looked deeply into my eyes, "Think of it as the additives within the food you buy at the market, already full of nutrients but more vitamins and antioxidants are added anyway.—_

_"As I was saying before, today we're discussing your medication—"_

_ I glared at him, "I'm not taking medication." I doubted the 'cafeteria food' was to blame for that man's chemical irregularities and I would not be subject to the same treatment._

Shock rang through me.

What was a speculation, a mere possibility, was now a reality.

He was administrating drugs into my food! But why would he drug me? Because of those drugs I suffered horrible terrors, malicious hallucinations—which had me restrained and tortured...

How was he 'helping me' by poisoning me?

I shook from fear, hurt, anger, and cold but refused to move.

H-How could he? He was supposed to keep me safe. He was the one I depended on...

I was unable to tell if the wet feeling on my face was from the shower or my own tears but I knew the choked sobs came from me. My knees shook before giving out and sharply connecting with the tiled floor. The pain only doubled me over as I sobbed, hugging myself while icy water pummeled me relentlessly.

Why did he want to hurt me? Why would he lie to me?

The betrayal burned me to a frigid fragment of myself. I sat in the dark, clutching my heart as I whimpered through the stabbing pain.

I-I trusted him, he helped me—before he betrayed me or was it all a game?

_ "You don't have to feel that way anymore. You said you cared but I'm asking you to trust me—"_

_ "_Trust_ me, Revis. I can keep you safe, in fact I already have been. Would you like to know how?"_

I pulled at my hair in an ashamed desperation.

How could I have fallen for that? Why was it I only understood my faults, the two edged words of others, _after_ the betrayal had taken place?

_ "Can you trust me now? I've been protecting you from those who beat you when you were," he smirked condescendingly, "_defenseless_."_

No! SHUT UP. SHUT UP—

_"Do you trust me?"_

_ "Why is my trust so important..."_

_ "I've protected you from those who harmed you, I've given you no reason to mistrust me. In fact, this was only to punish you for your misdeeds: attacking both staff and inmates alike, killing within the asylum, acting out in attempts to escape, drawing unnecessary attention to yourself, the list goes on and on."_

_ "Punishment...?"_

_ "Yes, if you hadn't harmed so many, including yourself, I wouldn't have done any of this. Yet you've received your punishment and now I hope you've learned a lesson."_

How far did this sick game reach? 'If you hadn't harmed so many, including yourself, I wouldn't have done any of this'. What twisted logic did he wrap around me? That he was 'helping me', that I could 'trust' him, what did he expect to gain from this?

_"Shh, just let go. Don't question it, I am here for you. I've protected you, I'll keep you safe—"_

_ "Trust me, Revis..."_

_ "—Revis...You're safe with me—"_

_ "Yes Revis, I'll protect you from everything...Do you trust me?—"_

_ "Revis, do you trust me?"_

Why? Why was my trust so important?

I wailed in agony as the pain, the confusion, all of it tore through me. I truly thought he would be there...He seemed to know what to do, how to help me, he even poisoned Lucius—but before that, when I first saw the cells he basically admitted to experimenting on them...

What if Lucius was merely another test subject—

_ "Yes, he was the first to sample my newest brand of medicine."_

But why me—_"I'm just another crazie with slight resilience to your poisons...Why am I so important to you?"_

_ "You're different than the rest of them."_

Was I merely an easily fooled pawn? Did he find some amusement in watching me as I—

My jaw clenched, cutting off my sobs.

I _cried_ in front of him, _hugged_ him when I was scared; I practically _confessed_ my feelings to him...and he used that to betray me. I was so weak, so pathetically vulnerable, so...**hurt**—

_ "I had plans to deal with you but I find the more recent chain of events to be more _suiting_ toward my plans."_

Were things still going according to plan, Dr. Crane?!

I felt so distant, numb to everything...or so I would have been except for the all too human heart that bleed in my chest.

No, this is what I wanted to break away from. The same emotional bond I had once before with Lucius...The feeling of absolute need and faith despite the marring pain and fear in his actions.

I wanted to leave before things progressed so far...before I fell in love with him.

I cried out as my chest jolted with another agonizing stab, I loved him...I was in love with my tormenting, sadistic, cold, psychiatrist.

No—My protest quickly died...

I didn't feel up to bothering with the theatrics of screaming, clutching my head, or hitting the wall. I was beyond that. In fact, I felt a numb sort of thrill like the feeling one gets when they do nothing to stop an impending danger.

I knew I was about to be hurt more than ever, possibly killed, in the next days if he knew of either my feelings or my knowledge of his betrayal and yet I felt an almost pleasurable high.

I was going to die, if not physically then mentally, the next time I met him. Even so, I knew I would fall into his lies, his poisons with a knowing smile if only to feel his agonizing embrace one last time before I faced his wrath.

Oh yes, love is a many splendored thing, indeed.


	39. Chapter 9: Responsibility

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank everyone who has read and reviewed my humble yet demented story! Your comments are always a pleasure to read!**

**Next I would like to make an announcement for this chapter. I reference my crane background story "Jonathan Crane: The Origin of the Scarecrow" and it is quite important that you all read this (if you haven't already) because I'll be making more references in the future.**

**Oh and I updated my Halloween treat yesterday (actually similiar to this chapter, weirdly enough o.o this was written about two years ago but I guess it stuck with me for the halloween story), so check that out if you want something creepy and funny although it is more experimental and as a wonderful reviwer pointed out "self-indulgent". So if you don't mind the personal view of a writer clashing with fiction(?) then read on!**

**Similiarily I posted a music video for Megamind called "Joker: Super Psycho Love" by "Scarecrowxrevis13" on you-tube if any of you Joker fans out there are interested. The backgrounds/props are hints toward her side of the story that is being written. **

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9 Dr. Crane POV<strong>

Such a troublesome woman...Even now, she proved to be a menace.

I pressed my fingers to my head in a vain attempt to push away a throbbing headache at the sudden change in events. I should have foreseen her tendencies to lash out and 'experiment' on others for the simplest of reasons.

I exhaled as I concentrated on building up my detached mask as I opened the door to her 'cell'.

Inside that useless buffoon continued to sob, "Pete! It's okay buddy. I'll get you outta here..."

I walked inside calmly, careful to not stain my shoes on the bloodied floor, "I hope you're aware his ears have been cut off."

The blubbering dolt turned to me, face reddened and smeared with mucus, "W-What?"

I nodded toward two lumps lying idly on the floor; the grieving man looked wordlessly at the stumps of flesh.

"Would you like his share?" I asked unconcerned by the scene.

If anything, the mural on the wall offended me far more than any sharp odor that invaded the air.

A scarecrow attacked by crows...How charmingly accurate.

Her current behavior was indeed a thorn in my side; however, crows were easily dealt with if one knew the proper methods of disposal.

"Y-You, how can you ask something like that, boss? Pete's _dying_!"

I glanced dryly at him, "Is that a 'Yes'?"

The slobbering fool stood and made a sloppy attempt to clear his face of snot, "Yeah, but that's it. I'm not workin' for you no more."

I gave him a tight twist of my lips that might have been seen as a smile if one squinted, "Very well...Oh, it seems I require your gun."

He gave me a mistrusting look but readily handed over the gun—How trusting idiots were these days.

Without a word I lifted the handgun and fired a clean shot into his head. The echo sounded loudly the room and the kick set me off guard but I recovered enough to easily step over his fallen body to aim the gun at the head of the surprisingly alive human party streamer.

I blinked at him lazily before pulling the trigger. Blood splattered once more, some of it even landing on my face.

Slightly repulsed, I wiped my face clean of the offending liquid before I placed the gun on safety and dropped that onto the floor as well. On my way out the door, I paused to glance down at the once crying dunce, "I hope you enjoyed the same share of fate your partner was promised."

Now that those two brainless thugs were dealt with, I suppose it was time to check back in on Revis. I wouldn't put it past her to find a way to drown herself as she panicked within the showers.

While the trip to the bathroom was short my thoughts were streamed out in many different directions.

Not only would I have to assure her of a plausible reason for the utter incompetence of those offensively primitive men but I would need a new holding cell...Unless her recent actions demanded yet another 'treatment'.

In the meantime, I would have to recruit more thugs to ensure my plans were to continue unhindered. I was close to a breakthrough with Revis. Soon enough, she would be a broken woman, begging for help.

Of course, my 'medicine' would twist her reality further but her undying trust in me would keep any rebellious thoughts at bay as I continuously experimented on her 'for her own sake, of course'.

Clearing my mind of any revealing thoughts, I entered the darkened bathroom which seemed to be in use and easily turned the lights on. In a sort of conformation of my suspicion, I saw Revis had indeed turned on the water but instead of lying in a puddle, drowning, she was kneeling in what must have been frigid water.

Great, now I could add the risk of hypothermia to my growing list of problems.

I glanced around the room for something to towel her off with and found the rough, off grey towels piled in a corner.

Ignoring the musty smell, I gingerly plucked one from the pile and neared her, unsure if she was in shock or about to pounce.

She glanced up at me, a delayed action I noted, and stared at me questioningly. Without speaking, I reached out to turn off the water before dropping the towel in her lifeless hands.

Her skin was paler than usual, a feat which surprised me greatly, and she shuddered but made no movement to dry or warm herself.

Honestly now, even her clothes were soaked and _still_ she expected me to play the role of a mother doting on a helpless child? Where on earth did she find these notions that I would be there to dry her eyes should she cry—Well, I suppose I _might_ have sent the wrong message as I allowed her to cling to me whenever she found it convenient (usually for herself) to sob out her blackened heart.

I sighed before carefully kneeling so as to avoid soiling my suit. Once more, I took the towel in my hand but refrained from the irrational urge to smother her with it. Instead, I thoroughly dried her long, tangled hair then draped the towel over her shoulders like a blanket.

Recognizing the distant look in her eyes as breeding ground for manipulation, I managed, somewhat awkwardly, to lift her into a standing position. Thankfully, she took the incentive and found enough sense to walk for herself even if she insisted on holding onto the edge of my suit's sleeve.

While I lead her to the door my mind rapidly fired off options.

Either I would take her to the 'operating' room or my 'office' and while each had its merits—primarily the 'operating' room in favour of its sedatives—I knew I couldn't let such an opportunity to mould her mind pass.

Turning down the hallway and past her 'cell', I made a left and walked to the last door where my 'office' was kept.

I was surprised she hadn't noticed the architecture was far from accurate but in a way I was grateful. Despite my many years working and even a year of _living_ at Arkham, I was unable to recreate the facility due to both resources and time.

Opening the door and turning on the lights, I led her to the chair and pried her hand off me before I sat behind a desk similar to my former one.

"Revis, would you care to explain what happened earlier today?"

She remained frustratingly silent before responding, "Isn't it obvious enough what occurred?"

I frowned at her attitude.

When did this slight rebellion emerge?

"Yes, but your motive—"

She chuckled lowly and spoke while refusing to lift her head, "Shouldn't you know better than to expect _rationality _from the insane?"

I blinked slowly.

So today would require a bit of breaking to ensure her submission, "As I've said before you're different from the rest of them," for surely none of them troubled me as much, "I admit I expected more from you in light of your recent progress."

I saw her clench her fists before her shoulders sagged further.

Not letting the moment die, I continued, "In fact, I was sure we were reaching a deeper level of understanding but it seems I was mistaken."

As much as Revis hated humanity she seemed to thrive off my support. Ironically, I only supported my own agenda but if she wanted believe otherwise I was _far _from ready to break that particular illusion.

In a quiet, beautifully broken voice, she responded, "Apologies are worthless. What do you want me to do?"

I felt like sighing in pleasure at the boundless opportunities that came to mind but I patiently soothed the feeling to reply effortlessly, "As always I have your best interest at mind; however, I believe your behavior cannot pass unchecked."

She looked up at me with an empty but painful look in her eyes, "Are you going to punish me?"

I resisted the urge to taunt her and instead replied, "Do you believe you need to be punished?"

She paused then looked down as she asked in a slightly bitter but mostly resigned tone, "Would it matter?"

I replied honestly, "No."

She glanced up and stared at me with a slightly taken back expression. I suppose it was time to make amends.

"In all honesty, I know what's best—"

She laughed softly and looked at the neighboring wall seemingly lost in thought.

I was about to reply when she spoke.

"Well," she turned to look at me with a slightly mocking face, "my _good_ Doctor, what do you suppose is best for me now? Haven't I managed to impede whatever progress I make? Why not move onto lobotomy and make a 'mistake'. I'm sure if I was unresponsive it would better suit the agenda."

I blinked, completely surprised she was offering herself to such an extensive treatment—Perhaps one of the greatest horrors of mental procedures.

"While you may feel a sense of self-loathing or despair, I assure you I have not lost faith in you," in fact, I feel I'm closer to breaking you than ever, "If you're feeling open to more experimental procedures, I will be willing to oblige; however, I would prefer to first explore your thoughts behind this sudden change."

She sat in the chair; russet uniform stained from both water and blood; long hair matted and unruly; skin pale and still wet and yet she held a great resemblance to that of a dirtied marinate more than anything else. With a few more careful twists of the puppet's handle, she would be begging for my help—Anything to ease her pain and I would find great pleasure in exploiting that trust and desperation.

She blinked as if the answer was obvious, "It's simple: I've stopped caring."

There was the waning of her spirit; however, I needed her to feel a bit of self-preservation to succeed. After all, there was no desperation without hope, and without hope she would lack the rich agony one feels when that hope is callously ripped away.

"Are you certain you've stopped caring completely?"

Curiously enough, she lowered her face but not before I caught the colour on her checks...

Why was she blushing? Humiliation? Anger?

"Nothing may come of..." she trailed off before continuing, "whatever feelings I might possess."

Hmm, it seems I'll have to tread carefully although I couldn't help but wonder...No, the idea was too absurd.

"How do you know this?"

She glanced up at me searchingly yet the difference between this look and the one I saw as she performed was the hesitation and uncertainty that shimmered in her blue gold eyes, "Would you care for something that was never meant to be yours, that which is beyond your own limits?"

I furrowed my eyebrows slightly.

Why did it feel as though she held a double meaning within her words?

"My motivational values aren't in question—"

She looked away quickly as if restraining herself from speaking.

"Revis?" I asked hoping to pry open her mind.

"Haven't you pressured me enough..." she retorted in a voice I couldn't quite place.

"Do you feel pressured?"

She sighed angrily before fixing me with a weakly accusing gaze that seemed more wary than threatening, "Should I not?"

"You have a right to your feelings yet I had hoped you were comfortable enough to confide in me should something bother you. I am here solely to help you."

Her eyes tightened, "Aren't you laying it on a bit thick, _Doctor_?"

"I hardly see a fault with establishing a comfortable environment in which you are able to—"

"To what? To confess my every insecurity and fear brought on by _poisoned_ food—" her eyes widened as she immediately ducked her head, "p-poisoned by the capitalist efforts made to enslave an already materialistic country in hopes of controlling the superficial populace previously clouded with delusions of superiority and self-righteousness which in turn ferments the fertile ground of capital punishment to loons such as me. A-After all, the state owns me and feels free to make me a public image for served justice whenever their ego needs a boost or their authority is in question. How is there not pressure to retain my meager status in the land of the living?"

I gave her a hard look which she didn't bother meeting as I saw right through her near flawless yet far too 'eloquent' cover-up.

So it seems she discovered a part of my scheme that coupled with her suspicion of the guards made for a dangerous combination. While she claimed to stop caring, I found myself wishing she would, it would make the task of dismantling her mind even sweeter if it was torn away forcibly.

I tightened my jaw and sighed irritably.

"Revis, look at me."

She flinched before hesitantly meeting my gaze, fear dancing in her eyes.

Yes, she should fear my retaliation. After all, she forced my hand.

I stood and neared her as I adjusted the cuffs of my suit readying the canisters of gas. While I was hoping to conserve my toxins until I found a suitable resource to replenish my supply, it seemed I had no choice but to immediately act before her thoughts could crack the hold I had on her already.

Before I could speak, she cleared her throat before talking, "I'm not scared anymore, Dr. Crane."

I tilted my head, "Would you care to validate that statement?"

She looked up at me with a burning look that held not hatred or pain but longing—No, she couldn't.

I felt like laughing. Was it truly possible she had such human emotions, after all—and to me no less?

Oh my Revis, I think I'll quite enjoy exploiting this recent discovery.

Testing my theory, I stood in front of her and gave her pressing look, "Is there truly nothing you fear?"

Instantly her cheeks reddened as she seemed like a bird frozen in the gaze of a snake.

Time to strike.

I leaned forward as she leaned away, "Even the loss of something dear to you...or maybe someone?"

Her eyes widened and she quickly turned her head but the damage was done.

"Revis, surely you know what I'm talking about for surely you have cared for someone before only to lose them?"

She said in a firm voice but refused to meet my gaze, "I care only for my patients and yet they were never mine to possess."

I crouched down a bit to turn her face so she was forced to look me in the eyes, "Are you so fated to love that which is beyond you?"

I smirked as she flinched back, "I-I'm not sure what you're talking about..." she tried to seem causal but her too wide eyes made her fears _very _apparent.

I stood straight then continued, "While you care for your 'patients', you find a sense of similarity between the deceased and yourself. Yet what you long for is the same love and remembrance you patients receive by their family...What happened to your family, Revis? Did you cut off all connections because you felt ashamed? Did you feel _scared_ they would object to your lifestyle? Were they _disapproving _of your choices?"

She lowered her eyes but didn't bow her head as she spoke in a slightly detached voice, "I left because I was unable to love..." she glanced up at me, "I couldn't find joy in family 'bonding'. I felt alienated although I suppose I brought that on upon myself..."

She sighed and looked down again, "I was the dark child, the problem child. My older sister was graceful, beautiful, talented...she modeled and competed in sports, later she found a suitable man and was married. My younger brother was a favorite to my mother, they were inseparable and I suppose the lack of a father only strengthened the love my brother felt to my mother. He was in his first year of middle school when I graduated from highschool..."

She was quiet before speaking again, "I felt nothing more than familiarity with them, a tolerance of sorts...My mom hated how I closed myself off from the rest of them," she looked at me with a sad expression, "You have to understand the strain I put on my family with my 'problems'. After I was in the mental ward of the hospital, it was like a dark scandal that no one would speak of but everyone silently hated me for...

'I was the one to ruin her denial, I was the one to open her eyes to the reality that we _weren't_ the 'perfect' little family, like she believed us to be," she closed her eyes, "We argued so much...She didn't understand why I felt unsafe around everyone, she y-yelled at me for it..."

She looked at the ground once more, "But she didn't understand how I felt...that it was the lack of trust I felt toward everyone, the feeling of disbelief and _terror_ when I realized that the 'happiness' I felt in California, the 'good life', was filled with darkness...

'So whenever someone tried to bring that same 'happiness' to me I felt almost nauseated with their lack of understanding. How could they believe a smile didn't have a hidden meaning? That prosperity wasn't built over dark secrets? Did they think if I laughed enough I would stop seeing the vile ways of humanity? Did no one care to open _their_ eyes and see the same horrors as I did? A macabre scene of lies, deceit, denial, all clothed by hugs and warmth..."

She paused before meeting my eyes, "It is because I cannot love that I left and it is also the reason I refuse to stay for anyone who may believe otherwise."

I was quiet as I absorbed the information...

It seemed she was just another jaded soul, too scarred to fall back into life's monotony...too _weak_ to rise up and create her own niche. Instead, she chose to fall back on obscurity and isolation.

Yet it was her last sentence that struck a point in my mind. While her behavior was often random and impulsive she had some erratic logic at work and if I applied her logic to her behavior during our last session and the manner in which she seemed to fight against me yet hold onto me—Perhaps she was fighting her feelings or struggling not to fall completely into my grasp; however, it was her last remark which puzzled me.

_"I'm sorry."_

At the time her actions confused me, she sometimes remind me of Madeline...

While they were two different people entirely, I found myself viewing her behavior as a reference to Madeline's impulsive yet shy behavior. If Revis found danger in safety and trust it would makes sense she would fight against my attempts to 'help' her but paradoxically she yearned to love.

_ "It is because I cannot love that I left and it is also the reason I refuse to stay for anyone who may believe otherwise."_

How quaint, it seems her feelings were stronger than I thought. When I offered security, her neglected heart jumped at the chance for acceptance; however, her basic mistrust of humanity kept her away.

Come to think of it, she was merely a few sessions away from falling into my hands without question when she escaped...and it seems the time spent away has only festered her bleeding heart she mistakenly opened to me.

I felt like laughing once more. It wasn't my experiments or the mistreatment she suffered at Arkham which pushed her to escape but it was fear of her _feelings_ for me.

While I thought quickly allowing not even a minute to pass, she seemed uncomfortable with the silence.

Taking mercy on her I spoke, "Yet there is no need to run from me. I can shield you from those lies; protect you from their delusions..."

She seemed calmed slightly at my voice but spoke with a slightly wavering voice, "You can't control everything."

She clutched the material of her pants before standing and letting the towel fall to the chair as she looked me in the eyes, "No matter the reassurance you can't control my thoughts, what I believe or feel—"

I raised an eyebrow, "Can't I? For one I know of your _feelings _very well..."

She swallowed roughly as I took a step closer trapping her between the couch and myself as I continued, savoring the feeling of twisting her 'love' further, "You are by far the most interesting test subject I've had. Not only are your reactions to my toxins unusual, I believe your insanity takes a great deal of credit for that, but also you _feel_ something for me—" I tenderly traced a hand down her face as she flinched then closed her eyes, "Instead of fearing me as any rational person would, you're infatuated with me."

She looked up at me through stinging eyes—Aww, did she think I would play the 'knight in shining armor' forever?

I was never planning to keep up the sickeningly sympathetic façade for long and seeing as she figured out most of my illusion, I figured it was time to move on.

"You're wrong, I fear you just as I..." she trailed off to look down, "Your experiments are pointless. I feel fear and accept it, even come to welcome it. Whatever results you were looking for in this elaborate game, you won't find in me."

With all pretenses discarded on both sides, I stepped forward once more so I was pressed against her as I trailed a hand down her neck, inducing a shiver.

Ah, that's right she was _sensitive _around her neck...

I continued down to her shoulder then suddenly pushed her down against the couch so I was able to lean over her, caging her.

I suppose this would an interesting mix, her 'love' for me combating her fears of human contact as well as trauma from rape. Yet knowing Revis, her reaction would not disappoint me.

"That's where you are mistaken," I smiled dangerously, my voice dropping slightly, "I find your _receptive_ behavior quite intriguing. I never believed I would have a personal fear junkie at my disposal. In fact, your feelings only serve to strengthen whatever misguided logic that keeps you here."

She pressed herself against the couch a deep blush running across my cheeks as she refused to meet my eyes. Roughly, I grabbed her chin forcing her to look into my eyes.

I would take this new advantage as far as I needed; however, I knew I wouldn't have to push her too much before the _intended _result appeared.

Her breath caught as she once more stared at me, too paralyzed by either fear or awe to fight me. Before she could recover her wits, I leaned in and took her lips in a kiss.

She froze at the contact but that didn't deter me. If anything, it encouraged me to break apart her resilience and teach her a lesson for so foolishly opening her heart to me.

I broke apart and whispered in her ear, "I don't think I'll find another quite like you, Revis."

Without another word I brought my lips to hers again, hoping to fool her into thinking I held similar feelings.

While I may have kidnapped, poisoned, lied to, and tortured her, Revis was the type of person to overlook such dire faults for a bit of soothing affection. I found it deeply ironic in a way. I burrowed my way into her trust, broke and built over her fragmented mind over months of punishing and twisting her and now even though a year passed between our last meeting she trusted me wholly and allowed me to do as I pleased.

Such unbiased feelings, preceding torture and self-preservation—Why, I found it not only ridiculous but also endearing. Not to mention, the almost limitless possibilities which were open if I continued to break her. My methods would be more forcible, including taunts and fear instead of comfort and half-truths but the result would be the same.

When she began to respond, I fought revulsion at how easily her mind was moulded, her heart exploited, but I suppose my brilliant methods were the greater force at hand.

I tensed as she ran her hands along my shoulders to softly tangle into my hair.

Must she react so...well, physically?

In an attempt to pacify her as well as assert control, I pressed her further into the couch and angled myself to deepen the kiss. Feeling tired of the repetitive actions, I nipped at her lower lip causing her breathing to quicken but I ignored the reaction in favor of moving along to her neck.

She seemed to radiate warmth although the heavy blush along her cheeks was the likely culprit. Other than weakly grasping my suit she remained pliant beneath me.

This was much better; such _sensitivity _rendered her almost useless and therefore easier to control. Now it was time to continue with the plan.

I breathed over her skin, already coated with gooseflesh, "This doesn't change anything..." I murmured before biting at her neck which made her moan.

Once more pushing down my reluctance to continue, I spoke, ready to break her heart in two. Hopefully, she would be too far gone to react violently or turn against me, "I have no feelings for you. You're below me."

She began to struggle weakly against me.

Why, perhaps I should resort to such lowly tactics more often if it reduced her efforts to this pitiful challenge. A challenge she wouldn't have won if I hadn't backed away slightly to look into her eyes and confirm my earlier statement, "I feel nothing for you."

She stared at me widely: betrayal, hurt, and confusion all swirling in her eyes. I could practically feel the seams of her mind straining to comprehend what I said. Yet I didn't allow her time to react as I dove forth, pushing her against the couch forcibly as I kissed at her neck, "You're worthless," I paused to bite the crook between her neck and shoulder, "No one will ever love you."

She pressed against my chest, trying to fight the sensations in order to speak, "S-Stop!"

I held her hands down, then captured her lips in a kiss, while she tried to turn away there was nowhere to go—I made sure of it. She seemed unsure as she tried to fight her impulse to react with the logic telling her to leave.

Hoping to scare her into compliance, I roughly groped one of her breasts, savoring her cry of despair and panic as I undoubtedly brought to mind unpleasant memories. I allowed her to turn away as tears rolled down her face.

"Why?! Stop...please stop," she whispered the end brokenly but I only forced her onto her back and looked at her with a blank expression.

"No. After all, isn't this what you wanted?"

She cried once more at the war with herself: pleasure and pain, love and fear, truth and betrayal. Watching her break was so amusing...

Yet as she tried to pull away once more my attempts to restrain her caused me to inadvertently straddle her. This new position felt awkward but I knew the fears she fought would win as the position brought panic to mind.

As expected, she breathed raggedly and pushed against me tiredly yet only succeeded in wearing herself out. Hopefully, the strain of her emotions would overcome her struggling and give me more leverage to use.

I spoke lowly as I turned her head so she was forced to look at me while tears seeped out of the corners of her eyes, "Are you happy now?"

She tore herself from my grip and tried to turn over but I pressed myself against her tightly then captured her protesting arms, crossing them over her chest in a mockery of mummification.

How pitiful, even now she tried to fight back when clearly there was no one who could save her. We were alone and nothing would be there to disrupt our time together.

She shook with tears and seemed furious despite the blush that covered her skin or the fact that her rapidly beating heart was breaking with each beat, furthering the pain yet knowing her, she would be yearning for more. In some ways, she reminded me of an angry kitten, put out because of a failure to succeed but adorable in its weakness.

She whimpered as I leaned over her further, my breath falling over my neck and the skin revealed by her jumpsuit from our struggle.

It was time to set her mind straight while breaking that last level of defense, "You belong to me, Revis. There's nothing you can do..." I leaned in and kissed along her jaw leading toward her ear, "...No one who will save you..." I bit her ear lobe and pulled teasingly, slightly mocking her actions in Arkham as she outwitted the crazed nutter "...and best of all...you won't want anyone to."

She shuddered at the sound of my voice. Even as her body temperature rose and her nonexistent struggling became apparent she had a calculating glint in her eyes. In what was probably a weak attempt to distract me from my growing victory, she replied breathlessly, "N-No, you're wrong."

I pushed on her arms which caused the breath to leave her chest as I looked her in the eyes, my breathing slightly heavier due to the effort of restraining her, "Do you still cling to your denial? You won't leave me, you can't," I bored my eyes into hers, "You don't want to."

She closed her eyes in defeat, letting her head lull to the side as she waited for me to do whatever I wished...and she was right. I had won. She was forcibly restrained, frightened by my words and actions, but best of all she knew she was powerless. Finally, she had accepted her position and awaited my reaction. However, I needed to reinforce this belief before I could build up a newer trust, not based off of favors and smiles but threats and false romantic advances.

Suddenly, her eyes flashed open as she glared up at me not yet struggling but already tensing, "I did before."

I kept my face blank.

This weak point would fail with all the rest.

At my lack of response she continued, "I left and I took you down in one stroke. Tell me Icarus, have you fallen far enough?"

I glared slightly at the offensive nick name she gave me upon our first session, "I wonder what hurt worse, the humility of being arrested, cast among the very patients you taunted and experimented on or the fact that the incompetent, _inferior, _staff caught you with your hands full of evidence," she smiled seemingly unaware of the situation and shook her head slowly, "Tsk tsk, I would have thought you would show more caution, more cunning, but I suppose your _weakness_ was my gain."

I angrily pressed into her hissing, "You forget who holds the power—"

She laughed fearlessly despite the lack of breath that was available, "I know—" she took another strained breath, "you hold the power but that doesn't mean I can't," she breathed heavily as I put more weight on her arms therefore constricting her chest further, "gain some leverage—"

I chuckled darkly.

Did she think leverage would be enough?

I released her arms and looked down at her my arms supporting my weight on either side of her head while she struggled to breathe regularly, "What leverage do you have? I hold the power within my unworthy colleagues, those pathetic inmates, even over you. Did you forget—"

She glared up and me and raised herself onto her elbows which was just about the only move she could make, "Did _you_ forget you're useless without your toxins. I believe I told you that much the night I escaped—"

The nerve of her!

"Escaped? You never left my asylum, my world. In fact you only worsened your fate, did you believe it to be _wise_ to anger me after knowing the power I held?"

She frowned, "I survived living in an asylum once, what difference does it make—"

I briefly lost control of my temper as I forced her onto her back once more as I held her by her throat, tightening my grip, "The _difference_, Revis, lies in what else you told me. Your revelation of your talent, only furthers my control."

She struggled as she was undoubtedly thrown into the overwhelming hatred and sadistic desires I was feeling.

I hope she realized the depth of my power, the darker recesses of my heart. I wanted her broken, all attempts at rebellion forced out in favor of my decisions.

She clutched at my hand, wheezing as she tried to breathe through my tight grip. Her nails left red marks on the back of my hands but I put up with the pain in order to finally subdue her. As her attempts faltered and her pulse began to grow faint, I let go of her.

Breathing heavily I asked, "Did you believe I would leave you unharmed?"

She wheezed painfully while trying to focus on breathing correctly.

"I'm not merciful enough to allow you the pleasure of falling unconscious. I don't take lightly to resistance. It's time you received your punishment."

I felt along the inside of my suit's sleeves but she coughed and spoke hoarsely, "O-Only the Lord may," she coughed again, "judge and forgive...Isn't that right, Jonathan?"

My eyes widened and for a moment, I was frozen with shock but I struggled to compose myself.

Before I managed to speak, she interrupted "Did your Granny—"

"Enough!" I yelled letting her cower into couch as I immediately leaped off her, making sure there was no contact between us.

How did she—What did she see? Granny...

A cold sweat broke over the back of my neck.

I hadn't thought of her in years aside from the occasional nightmare—there were too many memories of pain, humiliation, suffering—and to think she saw that.

"You-You see," she coughed a bit as I panted from anger, embarrassment, fear—No, **not **fear, "_Dr_. _Crane_, I usually am able to filter," she swallowed roughly, "between emotions, memories, and thoughts but with the lack of air, I saw more than-than you intended."

I paused.

So she did see a memory...saw my life or at least a portion of it.

Quickly, I gained my composure as I gave her a dark look yet I was unable to relax my clenched fists, "You'll be consumed by fear, your mind will break under the strain of panic and undiluted terror."

Once more, I reached for my suit's sleeve but she only looked at me with sad eyes, "I-I'm not a religious person, so this may not matter to you...but I do see a worthy soul in you, Jonathan. It's clouded by pain and a chillingly precise hatred but it's there."

I found myself out of breath again as I glared at her.

How dare she! The audacity of that woman!

Venomously I replied "If you're not religious, you wouldn't care for the quality of souls much less mine."

She smiled slightly her breath not quite normal, "I'm an animist. I believe everything has a soul like that energy I feel," she closed her eyes briefly as she took a relaxing breath then opened them again, "I believe in no God or afterlife, merely that once we die our souls reinforce Karma, the governing force of fate. There's no judgment, no 'eternal damnation', nothing that would cloud my logic when I say I don't care about your experiments, I don't judge you for your past—I only love you as you are."

I paused at her confession and looked at her for a moment before speaking again in a cold voice.

Despite what she saw, she was under my control and she wouldn't resist for fear of her petty feelings, "Was there a point you wanted to make?"

She continued smiled as she unsteadily leaned against the couch's arm, "There's nothing I can do to change your mind or mine..." she looked deeply into my eyes, "So I suppose it's up to you to fix things."

I blinked.

What was she thinking of now?

"Are you so far gone as to forsake your meager capabilities concerning basic functions such as decision making or have your emotions rendered whatever defective reasoning you once possessed entirely useless?"

She met my gaze calmly, "Perhaps...Either way, you're entirely to blame and if I am just another test subject you should take full responsibility."

I glared angrily.

I was _extremely_ tempted to give her a fatal dose of my toxin. While it was still unstable, I had two remaining vials and I only needed one to synthesize and reproduce. However, if she's asking for my final word I might as well utilize my intended result.

"I intend to," I replied darkly before approaching her and roughly grabbing her wrist to pull up her sleeve.

Trying to clear my mind of any offending thoughts that she may use to her advantage, I reached inside my suit to access the sedatives I kept in a hidden pocket. Withdrawing a syringe, I injected it into her still arm as she looked at me with a mix of uncertainty and trust that only someone as unstable, _irrational_, as _her_ could achieve.

As the sedative took effect, she slumped against the couch, already unconscious before she hit the cushions.

I sighed and looked down at her limp body...

I suppose the experiment was almost at a success despite the recent setbacks—my jaw clenched at the reminder—but I would require a new change of scenery if I were to continue.


	40. Chapter 10: Monster

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to say "Wow!", the overwhelming amount of feedback I recieved was absolutely mindblowing and I want to thank everyone for being so supportive! **

**Next I would like to make a note on this chapter that I ony realized today while I was editing. I can't believe I did this but I realized that Revis makes the NUMBER ONE mistake in all horror films: going _toward_ the screams/odd noises. It made me laugh a bit when I figured it out (especially since this chapter was written about a year and a half, if not two years ago) but Revis does make a lot of stupid mistakes. Especially in the next chapter x.x Revis makes me facepalm sometimes.**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10 Revis POV<strong>

I woke to screaming.

Gasping, I shoot up from—Was I on a bed?

Confused I looked down at myself, momentarily disoriented at the change in surroundings.

Another cry rang out from beyond the closed door in front of me.

Leaping off the bed, I pushed down the rising questions of my whereabouts and how exactly I was in sweats and a slightly too big tee shirt. I only stumbled slightly before opening the door and peering at the dark atmosphere of the hallway. My feet were cold against the wooden floors but I continued on with a frown which complimented my headache perfectly.

There was something off about the screaming...It didn't sound, well, human.

There it was again!

I followed the noise as I quickly but cautiously walked through the creaking house until I came to a door with peeling paint. There was a sort of scuffle from behind the old wood. My heart beat loudly in anticipation but I chided myself before opening the door and stepping inside the cold, cement laundry room. Nothing seemed amiss but the noises were growing in intensity as I gazed upon a second door leading to yet another room. Gathering my nerve, I opened that one as well in order to reveal a garage.

Unlike most garage's, there weren't many boxes let alone a car. Instead, the room seemed to be filled with tables, metal stands holding vials, cages, and books. Amid the clutter was a tall figure I easily recognized as my former psychiatrist.

What was going on?

Once more that horrible noise sounded and I clamped my hand over my ears as the cry was definitely louder, shriller in here...but what caused it?

Lowering my hands, I walked closer although my voice dying in my throat. Yet before I could reach out to tap him on the shoulder, he turned—Ah!

A mutilated beak sprouted from his face, feathers flared alongside his cheeks—

He lowered a struggling bird as it squawked once more, revealing himself to be in pristine condition.

Heart pounding, I lowered my raised arms and straightened out my crouched posture, embarrassed at my sudden reaction.

My ears rang and for a moment I was puzzled before I realized I must have screamed.

Blushing, I grabbed my limp, left arm with my right hand before glancing up at him, "I, um, there was a noise and..." I trailed off and waited for his reaction.

He blinked at me, clearly unamused, before turning to the table with the black bird in hand, well in gloved hands. Curiously I neared him, standing a few feet to his right as I peered at his actions.

He seemed to be restraining the bird—

A pang of unease rang through me. Why did he want a crow? Or maybe it was a raven?

The shrill 'caw' rang out again and I recognized the sound to be a crow; ravens usually croaked.

Without another word, he managed to inject the bird with a type of serum despite the slightly bloodied gloves.

Was the bird injured?

The bird grew limp in his hands but seemed very much aware with the way its black eyes rolled about the room as weak noises came from its mouth. I swallowed, feeling sympathy for the bird. Yet Dr. Crane didn't spare me a glance before he filled another syringe with a dark coloured liquid and neared the bird...

This wasn't right.

Before he could continue, I placed a slightly unsteady hand on his arm.

He paused and slid his eyes over to me but remained poised in front of the bird, "Yes, Revis?"

I almost backed down but upon hearing the bird let out a small cry, I persevered, "I don't think the anesthetic is working. The bird is clearly—"

"Anesthetic?" he asked then smiled and turned to me as he pushed his glasses further up getting a bit of the blood on his glasses' frame. When did he begin wearing his glasses again?

"I believe you are mistaken. I merely paralyzed—"

"Why?" I blurted out surprising myself with my actions.

He continued to look at me with a cold expression but before he could chastise me, I spoke up again, "I mean, what use is it in helping the—"

"Helping?" he asked, clearly amused.

I nodded, "Well obviously you'd be helping the crow although I can't see exactly what's the cause of injury or—"

"Revis surely you've heard of my alias?"

I paused...

Alias?

He only waited a moment before replying in a condescending manner, "I am also known as _Scarecrow_."

I furrowed my eyebrows.

That still doesn't explain—Wait!

I tried to reach forward to stop him but he had already finished injecting the strange serum into the bird. My hand paused then fell back to my side uselessly as I looked at the bird while it made horrible sounds, twitching desparately.

I turned to Dr. Crane angrily, barely able to keep my eyes off the tortured bird, "Why are you doing this? You should never hurt an animal!"

I heard him exhale sharply before he glanced at me coldly, "Would you prefer I hurt you?"

I met his eyes firmly although my heart felt crippled by the justified fear...I only knew all too well what he was capable of.

"Yes...It's wrong to harm animals. I'd rather kill a human before I killed an animal."

He seemed to pause for a moment then smirked at me, "If you insist..." he then handed me a scalpel.

Wordlessly, I took the familiar instrument with my right hand although I was confused.

He lifted my wrist until the blade rested over his jugular, moving slightly as his heart beat steadily. My eyes widened and I tried to pull the scalpel back but he kept my hand there.

My breathing quickened as I stared at him shaking my head, "What is the meaning of this?!"

He kept his cool gaze on me as he replied without so much as a jump in his pulse, "If you would rather kill a human than an animal then by all means, kill me."

He let go of my hand (which I was slightly thankful for, I never liked the feeling of latex gloves despite my frequent use of them as a mortician) but I found myself unable to move away.

I looked down at the bird still in pain, crying for help...

I closed my eyes then looked into his, "And if I don't?"

He kept a blank face, "I'll continue to experiment on the crow. In fact, I have a few ideas already in mind. First, I would like to see the resilience the bird has as well as the effects of the toxin within its internal biology. Afterward, I'll regroup my work and continue on with others—After all, crows are plentiful to find—"

"Stop!" I exclaimed although my voice wavered.

How could he expect me to kill him? Why would he give me that leverage—

Life without Dr. Crane...The thought wrenched my heart in tight knots.

I-I needed him. I loved him—

No, what he was doing was wrong. This crow was a symbol of Death. He was defacing my title, harming my—

I didn't want to hurt him. What would I do without him? He was all I had...

No, I had other things—

I was alone without him. I didn't like being alone.

No, I would move on—

What was the point when I'll only think of him, yearn for him, _love_ him.

The birds cries grew louder as Dr. Crane spoke up, "Come now, Revis. We haven't all day."

I screwed my eyes shut as I turned my head sharply then quickly removed the scalpel from his neck and opened my eyes enough so I was able to make a clean decapitation on the paralyzed yet suffering bird. With the deed done I looked at the ground, unfazed as the blood splattered on both of us. The scalpel was clutched tightly in my hand although I made no move to place it on the table.

"Whatever is the matter, Revis? I believe you said 'I'd rather kill a human before I killed an animal'. Why the sudden change?"

As he talked I refused to meet his gaze; however, when he finished I fixed him with an intense look bordering between hatred and pain, "You're not human...You're a monster."

I licked my lips only to taste the blood of the crow. I made a slight face at the taste but before I could move away he titled my chin and ran his gloved thumb across my lip only adding more blood, "And yet you love me..."

I stared into his face, red splattered along his left cheek, although his eyes remained the same: cold.

Chills broke out along my arms as I didn't bother leaning away or nervously trying to talk my way out. Instead, I kept the eye contact between us a bit longer before dropping my eyes to look at the wall behind his shoulder, "Yes...I love you."

The normally sentimental statement sounded lifeless yet I felt his mood lift in a wave of happiness—or was that pride?

He adjusted his grip so his right arm wound around my shoulders, apparently uncaring if he stained the white tee shirt, as he turned me to stare at the recently murdered crow, "Well there's still work to be done. I'll need that scalpel."

"What?" I asked in a quiet, almost childish voice.

I killed the bird; there was nothing else to be done.

"I've already explained myself. Honestly Revis, are you so forgetful that you don't remember my earlier statement? I'll need that scalpel if I am to continue with my work. After all, the internal structure of the crow would better reveal the results...Unless, of course, you would rather assist me? It shouldn't be too different from the odd case or two you used to receive when Gotham had their hands tied."

I looked at him both horrified and disbelieving. He wasn't seriously asking me to—to examine the bird was he?

"What do you hope to find?" I asked, trying to push down my emotions.

"Ironically enough, that toxin was lethal, you only quickened its death; however, there are a few inquiries I have as to the strain of the toxin on the bird's body."

Hoping to ease around the action, I spoke up and pointed at the bird when appropriate, "You can tell the brain swelled due to the bulging of the eyes not normally found within normally deceased crows."

I gingerly felt along the bird's tightly clenched talons, "Even after death it is too soon for rigor mortis to set in yet the feet are curled in tightly and stiff. The cause is either due to a muscle spasm, the paralysis, or an aftereffect of the toxin. The wings are spread out in hopes of flight; however, there are slight traces of blood between the feathers," I gently brushed part of the deceased bird's wingspan, "This is caused by either mishandling or other traumas to the body."

I gestured near the bird's slit throat, "The blood is darker due to the contrast in rooms temperature and the bird's which is about 100 degrees or higher; however, it has thinned under the toxins effects—This is seen by the longer arcs within the blood splatters, just as its throat here..."

I carefully pulled back the slashed neck to reveal the swollen, discoloured skin, "The muscular structure of the bird's throat is greatly discoloured as well as irritated, presumably caused by a quick pulse under both the strain of capture and toxin.

'A bird's heart is normally beating around 400 beats per minute but under stress this number can triple. Obviously, the blood was the carrier of the toxin, and affected the entire body. Rate of paralysis was eroding in place of the toxin however death from heart failure, chemical overload, or other means would have arrived before the paralysis wore off."

Turning to look at him, I raised an eyebrow, "Satisfied?"

"You seem knowledgeable on birds, quite surprising actually..."

Knowing he was doubting my explanation, I replied honestly, "Awhile ago I worked on a case in which a bird ingested a type of worm causing it to attack its owner. The blood drawn from the bird upon the owner's defense acted as a type of poison which killed him. The death was unusual but opened my eyes to many things I hadn't known before."

He calmly viewed me before nodding, "Well then, I'll bring in the others—"

"Others?!" I asked outraged and disappointed.

Did I truly save the bird or merely endanger more?

He smirked, "Yes, the others. I have many different toxins to test. Thankfully, they're non-lethal—After all, it's best to see both the short term and long term effects of each toxin."

How dare he!

I lunged at him, arm raised with the still bloodied scalpel in hopes of cutting him in an artery. While I was unable to kill him, I wouldn't let him—Hey!

He easily caught my wrist, then my other as I attempted to hit him with my free hand. My hair hung in front of my face but I ignored it as I tried to wrestle away from his tight grip.

He spoke, only slightly out of breath, "I expected you to attack sometime; however, your antics are useless."

I gave out a small noise as I was forced into the table's hard edge. He leaned forward, mockingly as I panted from the exertion, my wrists burning from the tight grip and unsavory emotions, "Unless, of course, you would rather take their place?"

I nodded, then looked up at him and shook my hair out of my face, "I'll test your poisons, just stop experimenting on animals."

He seemed smug as if everything was playing out as he wanted and knowing him, it probably was.

"As you wish..." he said before turning me around so I was once more facing the dead crow. He placed a hand on my left shoulder in a restraining fashion as his other brushed my sleep tousled hair away from my neck, the blood-slicked latex slightly pulling on the tangled strands. He breathed along the exposed skin causing me to shiver as he spoke, his lips brushing against my throat, "But before I proceed, I believe there are few more precautions to take."

I gasped softly as he placed a kiss on my throat while his right hand trailed down my arm raising gooseflesh at the feeling of those damned gloves, to the hand which loosely grasped the scalpel.

Despite the heavy blush along my cheeks, my stomach dropped as he lifted my hand and poised it above the bird's chest, "It'd be such a waste to ignore a perfectly useful tool...Besides, I can't have you testing lethal poisons..." the unspoken _yet_ rang through the air.

I shook my head but I only felt him smile against my neck before he nipped the sensitive skin.

My hand trembled from a mix of fear and lust as I felt overshadowed by him. His wide shoulders and long arms easily caged me just as his height only added to his intimidating presence.

I had no room to escape, no hope of fighting him...and this is what I agreed to.

I gave myself to him by asking him to take responsibility, which he had. Here I was in his house(?), willingly taking his poisons, and under his control. He obviously wasn't apart from twisting my feelings, bending my morals, or experimenting on me...and despite the addictive, masochistically pleasurable feeling of heart wrenching pain, I didn't care.

"Revis..." he spoke softly but I knew the warning all too well.

I took a deep breath, reached out to the thick, cloying energy that poured out of him: thin patience, cold precision, the glow of pride, the sweet yet rotten scent of ambition—

Yes, this was my life now.

With his hand tightly griping my shoulder while he literally breathed down my neck as he watched me work over my shoulder, I lowered my hand, overlapped by his gloved ones, and made the first incision.


	41. Chapter 11: Asshole

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers for the wonderful comments and patience in dealing with my erratic updates.**

**Yes, I AM updating early due to a VERY busy next two days in which I won't be able to update. I forgot to mention in my last update but I now have a stable source of internet in my house so there will be regular updates every week most likely sometime Friday.**

**Oh and for this (combined) chapter, in Revis' POV Dr. Crane says "Unless of course, you would like to help me test my toxins—" and originally this was in his pov and it went something like this " 'Unless of course, you would like to help me test my toxin's-' _serum before it was modified into that drink." _but when changing the chapter to Revis' POV I couldn't keep it. **

**Lastly there's a lil' surprise in this chapter, let me know if you find it! ****(Hint: It matches the chapter's name)**

**Also I do not own Batman in any way, shape, or form with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 11 Dr. Crane POV<strong>

I hummed softly while walking toward the garage, carrying a tray. It had been a successful week and I found myself in high spirits.

I dug into my pocket to find the key to the padlock I kept along the safety latch of the door. Once the lock was open, I somewhat awkwardly shuffled into the room balancing both the tray and lock while closing the door with my foot. I set the padlock on the nearby table yet pocketed the key before walking toward a lone figure facing away from the door.

With each step a different scene flashed before my eyes.

_ Dark shadows, malicious and taunting; imps of darkness flickered in the dim light, cackling as they watched eagerly, waiting for the torture to begin._

In actuality the room was brightly lit due to Revis' aversion to bright lights (which proved to be highly useful) and sparse yet the mood was something from a horror story.

Even at my entrance she didn't stir from her seat.

_ The dark chains rattled, the plaguing rats fled into the filth knowing a darker creature was approaching. The walls seemed to groan with dismay at the thought of seeing yet another scene of agony and brutality._

Obediently Revis sat in that chair, silent and submissive.

I didn't bother smiling for I had no use for false reassurances so I calmly set the tray down on the table nearest to her.

_ The metal tray clattered against worn stone causing her to flinch. The familiar sound of chains scraping across stone sounded as she tried to lean away, burrowing deeper into the desolate corner filled with cobwebs and discarded bones from smaller prey._

Despite the inner tone of the situation, Revis sat unbound and without a gag—In fact, I savored her screams.

I disdainful stared at the creatively distributed food, moulded out along the plate I left the night before. It seems due to my earlier actions she no longer trusted me with her food and resorted to such petty acts as shaping her food to seem as though she had eaten...

Well that wouldn't do. After all, I needed a healthy test subject for adequate results. Then again this would be a chance to test the effects my toxins had on weaker bodies.

Hmm, would the lack of water hinder or assist the coursing poison?

_Pleading whimpers echoed as she looked up at me with hurt, begging eyes._

Revis looked up at me calmly yet the slight widening then tightening of her eyes betrayed her emotions. Despite the reassuring knowledge of her pain and torment coupled with the misguided emotions which tethered her to me, I felt unnerved by those eyes.

Usually they carried a mix of hopelessness and trust, fear and apathy...but what sickened me was the _love_ I saw each time I poisoned her.

A weaker man would have succumbed to her tricks long ago but I knew her emotions were fickle to their master and so this façade she created hadn't the slightest chance of lasting to the end. However, I intended to utilize the advantage for as long as I was able.

"Revis..." I calmly spoke as she lowered her eyes, knowing I was referring to the uneaten food.

"I'm not hungry," upon replying, I noticed her wincing as her dried, cracked lips split causing blood to redden the paler flesh.

I fixated myself on her lips once more to avoid that gaze.

She didn't bother licking the blood away until it beaded at the edge of her lip, poised to fall. However, the action stretched her lips further causing more blood to seep out and spread into the other cracks along her chapped lips.

"Without proper food and hydration the toxin will stay in your system longer. Unless you wish to risk losing sight of reality altogether, I suggest you accept my generosity."

She smiled widely, uncaring as more blood gathered along her lip. Smiling up at me she tilted her head, a sign of impending psychosis I learned, and spoke, "Why would I when you're my reality? Unless these eyes are gouged, ears cleaved, and other senses null I'll always perceive you. Even if I were to lose everything, I would keep my memories. If those left too, I would know you anyway. After all, there is plenty of fear and cruelty in this world..." she reached a hand up toward my sleeve which I allowed her to grasp, "However, none would torture me so sweetly...and with such a chilling gaze."

Such confessions were both morbid and frequent; it seemed this newer venue of manipulation and pain suited her well. Fear was a pliable resource; however, she seemed either resilient or uncaring in face of the toxins.

In fact, I had only a few moments at best to accurately document the toxin itself before her psychosis took over which was when I would continue to document _her_. My mask and chemicals were suitable for my research just as her position was necessary but to truly terrify her I needed to only spend a few hours in her presence.

"And if you died from malnutrition, you would cease to exist entirely."

She let go of my arm and sprung up onto her feet unwavering despite the toll it took on her body, already her legs were shaking with the strain, "Oh silly, I _am_ Death or rather an extension of Death's hand. I see no need to—"

I brushed a hand along her cheek which stopped the half formed words at once, "How fickle..." I said then fixed her with a deep look, "To think you would flirt with death so often, are so unsatisfied with fear?"

Her pale cheeks grew warmer but no colour appeared, the tremors in her legs increased as she replied, "Often both are coupled together...Is it so wrong to enjoy a remembrance of you when you are gone?"

Her gall at saying such atrocious things!

I quickly removed my hand.

Eyes tight and gaze icy, I replied, "I do not love you. You are weak and foolish if you believe I do."

She faltered slightly, her hands in fists from either anger or the strain of standing, "No, it would be foolish to love you despite your cruelty. Instead, I love you for your faults as well as the pain you bring me..." she looked down, "I've jumped from delusion to delusion and now it seems while I face the truth I also recede into your web..." abruptly she looked up, "but it's not one of lies," she smiled and softly leaned her head against my shoulder and wrapped her arms around my waist despite my rigid posture, "it's of love."

Oh Revis...surely you should know by now I only love your fear and pain...but it seems you love it more than I do if you continuously force my hand.

"Time for your medicine," I spoke as if she wasn't hanging off me.

Instantly she froze then relaxed and backed away yet not before taking my left hand in her right. I tried to slip my hand out of her grasp but she held on firmly...

Oh honestly, I didn't have time for this.

Barely holding onto my collected demeanor, I reached forward with my right hand to the tray I had placed on the table earlier. When I turned back to her she bit her lip causing the thin coat of dark, dried blood to crack and land on her tongue.

Apparently she didn't notice the taste or perhaps she found it pleasing for she licked her lips and bit again causing more blood to weakly seep out, the pallets already built over the majority of the cut.

Slowly, she started to pull her hand away from mine in anticipation for the syringe I used; however, she froze as I tightened my grip on her hand and she realized I wasn't holding a syringe but instead a small paper cup with four differently coloured capsules.

Her breathing hitched for a moment as one of her knees gave out causing her to fall to the ground. On reflex she tried to bring her hands to the ground to break the fall; however, I refused to let go of her right hand and so she met the cold cement awkwardly.

First she gasped once her senses returned to her. Next her face contorted into an expression of pain as she struggled to stand or at least alleviate the strain caused by my tight grip on her oddly stretched arm.

Hmm, such a slow succession of reactions...Perhaps the detached hours she spent in a chair delayed her minds reactions. Yet not surprisingly, she didn't make a sound. Over time, I had learned her tolerance for pain varied on mood and the type of pain itself but usually she preferred to remain silent...which was a shame considering I enjoyed her screams.

"Come now Revis, I have other plans which require your stability. For now your services are no longer needed; however, I refuse to let you run rampant."

Either she was moving beyond the pain or she merely hadn't the strength to lift herself from the floor so she remained on the ground, her arm still twisted back, "I'm not taking medicine..." she said in a dark yet soft voice.

I pulled her arm back not in an attempt to lift her but merely to cause her greater pain. I felt amused when she remained silent and instead fixed me with a glare her face reddening under either the strain of pain, humiliation, or anger, "You don't have a choice."

I kept my face blank before harshly pulling up, the strength behind the action was weak but the pain should have anyone up on their feet. Revis was no exception as she yelped and awkwardly stood, trying desperately to relieve the pain she felt in her arm.

Now she was standing awkwardly, her arm pulled out at an odd angle and hand straining to escape my grasp; every now and then, she would attempt to pull her arm free but she lacked the leverage since her body itself was as far away from me as possible.

Honestly, so childlike...she should have learned her place by now.

"I-I'm not taking medicine..." she countered in a wavering voice.

I glanced at her face, mostly bored with her behavior but feeling a bit indulgent before I was forced to use the serum version. I expected tears or a flushed face but instead she looked at the ground with an almost angry expression...

No, definitely not anger but instead prideful?

Before I could respond she spoke again, "Whatever medicine you gave me last time blocked my methods of filtering energy because of that I...was defenseless."

Yes, there was definitely a mix of shame and pride on her face.

I stepped forward suddenly—So suddenly, in fact, that she hadn't the time to react properly.

I stood in front over her, knowing she had no escape due to the table behind her.

"You should have learned by now you're already defenseless. You have no control in your life. In fact, you forfeited it to me."

She looked up sharply and stared at me with hurt eyes, "That's not true!"

I stepped forward forcing her into the table. She winced at the unexpected pain but I ran my hand through her hair, carefully avoiding the slight tangles, "Isn't it? You told me to take responsibility for your," I sneered, "_feelings_ and so I have...Take your medicine."

Her lower lip trembled and she looked down then looked up suddenly, "I told you to take responsibility for my feelings, the trust and love _you_ caused. My mental health has nothing to do with—"

I said nothing but my stare slowly froze the annoying flow of words. I saw her hand shake slightly before she reached out to take the cup of medicine. However, instead of moving to swallow them she threw the cup at my face. I hadn't the proper time to react nor did I anticipate the event so I ended up with a sore eye as she scampered away.

Holding my eye, I rubbed the abused skin before lowering my hand to properly glare at her.

She swallowed but crossed her arms in defiance, "I'm not taking medicine."

A smirk crossed my face before I walked toward her casually. Wary she leaned back unconsciously yet refused to move. I continued to walk toward her until I was not even a foot away. Now I leaned closer savoring her colouring cheeks and slight shudder. I continued until she was mere inches from my nose when I said, "I'll prepare dinner then."

She blinked in surprise but I had already backed away. As I made my way out the garage she timidly followed, disbelieving her 'fortune'.

I found myself smirking once more; little did she know the true fear that waited inside.

**Revis POV**

One week...

One week has passed since I transitioned from resident 'lab rat' to simply resident. At first, I was almost unbelieving of my luck and immediately suspicious of Dr. Crane but his sudden 'generosity' was quickly marred by the list of rules and the great many changes around the house itself.

I was a grown woman, not some child, yet Dr. Crane seemed to have his doubts seeing as he safe guarded all the drawers within the kitchen and then the cabinets throughout the house. All locks within the house were removed except that of the main door and windows which were reinforced. Atop the many 'child-proof' features of the house, a list of rules were drawn up.

While in no particular order it went as such:

1) Accept medication

2) Start assisting Dr. Crane

3) Stop declaring endless love for Dr. Crane

4) Help around the house by cleaning

5) Only speak when spoken to

6) Leave no mess

7) Everything concerning your fate will be left in the ever so capable hands of Dr. Crane

Or something like that...

Really, I should know by now that my idealistic beliefs and firm declarations may seem to be perfect in a theatrical sense but lack realistic application...

Agreeing to become his sole experiment, leaving my life in his hands, loving him openly...such things were meant honestly and still hold true but _living_ with my decision or rather having my decisions mocked daily, did nothing to help my situation.

I sighed listlessly as I gathered the last bit of laundry and then made my way through the creaking house with rough, wooden floors.

By now the layout of the house was ingrained into my mind.

The house was of reasonable size holding three bedrooms, a bathroom, a living room, kitchen, dining room, adjacent laundry room, and a sizable garage all upon a single floor. While the paint was old, the wood unpolished, and the appliances outdated it was surprisingly secure. Large and surely expensive locks were fastened around each window and the front door/back door. Outside there was literally nothing...a simple neighborhood without any commotion...no children, no neighborhood committees...no _people._

Of course, I didn't mind too much—Maybe the neighborhood was up for sale despite the lack of realtors or signs of life.

Shrugging the obviously false thought from my mind, I opened the door to the ill-lit laundry room and mentally groaned as the chilled cement flooring bit into my bare feet. Breathing deeply as my toes began to ache, I walked to the washing machine and fiddled with the dials until I tuned it to the correct combination before starting it up. I then began the tedious task of filling the washing machine which was gradually filling up with cold water with both laundry soap and an assortment of sheets.

Since when did Death do laundry?

I had no qualms against hygiene just as I was no stranger to grime. I simply felt that while household chores were necessary I should focus my abilities on something other than 'cleaning'.

For someone who detested my very presence, Dr. Crane seemed to look upon me as some doting housewife who would tend to all the housework leaving him to practice his work as long as he wished. Actually, he probably figured housework would keep me out of his hair long enough for him to accomplish something.

Irked, I closed the lid a bit more forcibly than I had planned causing me to jump as the sound startled me. I calmed my heart while my eyes flashed to the door behind me.

Did he hear me?

For a moment, I felt as though the atmosphere shifted catching me in a moment of unaltered fear. Another moment passed before I breathed a sigh of relief then hopped atop the dryer to wait for the laundry to begin washing. I rubbed my eyes, irritated at the sequence of events which followed my decisions.

"Revis?"

My head shot up in surprise only to be met with the hard gaze of Dr. Crane.

I swallowed but straightened my posture and cocked my head while spreading a smile across my face, "Why hello, Dr. Crane."

He did not smile...If anything, his glare deepened causing me to suppress a shudder.

"I see you've been making something of yourself recently—" my eyes tightened but he continued anyway, "—and I believe you have earned a chance to assist me."

I paused as I watched him warily before replying, "What do you mean?"

He gave me a tight, reassuring smile, "You should have more faith in me, Revis...and I require your opinion."

I glared darkly...

How dare he mention anything like _faith_ and _trust_ when talking with me! It was he who _betrayed_ me!

I calmed myself before replying, "On?"

He fixed me with a blank expression before bringing forward a glass filled with what seemed to be clear soda.

"Would you care to taste this?" he asked in a voice much too poised to hold anything but a threat.

I wrinkled my nose, "I never liked soda. It's always fizzing—"

He sneered, "Just take the drink."

I shouldn't trust him...He's been nothing but a constant source of fear and frustration. Not a day has gone by since I began to live inside the house that I didn't expect some form of retaliation from refusing my medication.

Ever since then, he's been hiding away and scarcely saying a word to me, let alone try to threaten or persuade me into taking medicine. The glass wouldn't be filled with a toxin or anything like that for he hadn't called on me to the garage to help his 'experiments' since I moved in.

Maybe...Maybe he was simply offering me a drink?

Repulsed by the gently fizzing concoction, I gingerly took the glass while eyeing it disdainfully.

Dryly Dr. Crane drawled, "It won't bite."

My attention snapped from the bubbling soda to his sarcastic expression; in all seriousness I replied, "No, but it fizzes which irritates my throat and burns my nose—"

His eyes narrowed into venomous slits causing me flinch from the intensity of his hatred...

Here he was offering me a treat and yet I rudely pushed it away. What was wrong with me? What did it matter if he was a controlling ass and manipulative bastard, he was finally giving me attention!

Not thinking through my action so as to diminish the thoughts of pain that were sure to come from drinking, I took a brave sip—

Immediately, I began coughing and only by some saving grace I managed to roughly swallow the soda. In between breathless pants I exclaimed, "Ugh, it tastes horrible!"

Instead of being insulted as I had anticipated he simply stared at me apathetically and replied, "Please continue."

This didn't make sense; he only wanted my opinion on its taste not for me to finish the drink.

Suspiciously I asked, "Why—"

"Unless of course, you would like to help me test my toxins—"

Unwilling to subject myself to his complete control so soon, I quickly began to chug the horrid drink and tried my best to quell the racking coughs which shook me as I partially gagged.

At one point, I had to break away to cough as my eyes watered but I continued until again I was forced to cough. This coughing fit lasted longer than the others—

Gah, what did he give me?

Holding a hand to my mouth my other flew to my throat as the intensity of my coughs increased. Distantly, I heard a shattering sound but was too caught up in trying to breathe, let alone rid myself of the vile aftertaste.

"Ah, ugh it—" more coughing forced me to my knees amid broken glass as I struggled to breathe.

I felt him shift his weight as he leaned in closer.

The air tightened and shifted to reveal an ambitious and filthy presence—

That bastard, he did this on purpose! He did poison me!

Almost as soon as I had thought of the very offense did my vision tilt and waver. I clutched my head, my coughing fit suddenly subsiding, as a wave of distortion briefly overcame me.

Sensations were flipped, temperature morphed from hot and cold to tight and loose. The air seemed neither heavy nor light but a dark green smeared with dirty amber. I felt constricted in place yet also as though I were adrift in chaos—

Then it stopped.

I took a breath before raising my head and fixing Dr. Crane with a firm look while standing uneasily, "Next time you want me to test toxins, work on the flavor. Besides, the toxin was too diluted. What did you do, dry a serum to powder then add it to carbonated water?"

His eyes widened slightly before relaxing, "Nonsense, now clean up this mess. I have work to attend to."

Without another glance he swiftly turned and reentered the garage, the door closing with a resounding thud.

Numbly, I watched him too overcome by shock to reply.

In that same instant the washing machine ceased its shuddering, signaling that I had more work to do...

Damn him.


	42. Chapter 12: Burned

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers, your support has been a BIG help in ways I can barely explain! **

**I don't have much to say for this chapter except to point that there are quotes in here from an AMAZING roleplayer on twitter (normally I don't have anything to do with twitter but I found him through google and I was so glad I did!) The name is "Scarecrow (dr_crane)" on twitter, or maybe "Scarecrow dr_crane" idk I don't know how twitter works anyway, check him out if you want some intense fangirling!**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12 Dr. Crane's POV<strong>

My eyes viewed the disorganized stacks of paper around me with contempt. If only my glare could convey my true anger at yet another dead end in my research...

And to think that before my attribution, fear had merely been a footnote in texts of psychology. Aside from the dreadfully painful 'self-help' books brandishing new techniques to 'live without fear', there hasn't been a handful of books written solely on fear. And yet fear ruled everything, everyone, even!

I ran a hand through my slightly greasy locks, thoroughly ruining my once styled hair.

Who would appreciate my efforts?

Surely no one in Gotham, let alone any other populated area in which people ruled with their false ideologies of fear.

Fear was not something to be cast out with reassurances, fear was not some trifle that may be cured from a damned self-help book, and fear was most definitely _not_ something to belittle. Though it was simple to bring on, one cannot escape fear. For fear is not a delusion like happiness and security, loyalty, and trust. Fear _is_ life.

A dark chuckle bubbled forth shaking my shoulders slightly as I scanned my written notes. Life is a farce. The ideals of living are merely lies; therefore, life has no purpose. Such idiocy such as _love_ and _hate_ are merely tools used to prolong one's life.

If someone is in 'love' more often than not the happy couple decides to fornicate and clutter the world with more filth. Upon the wars brought upon humanity by hatred and greed, a part of the population falls in order for another to rise.

Yet the only reason for living is to avoid fear: fear of failure, fear of living alone, fear of death, fear of the unknown. Fear is the driving force of man, for all men are sentiment mortals condemned to die, and time is against humanity.

Hmph, _Death._

Whatever shall I do with _that_ particular test subject? While she hasn't acted out of turn, she was too unstable to stay accountable for long. It would be much simpler to merely medicate her to placate her turbulent mind and avoid future incidents from occurring. Already, I had prepared her medicine despite my extremely limited resources...

Really, why must she be so difficult? There is no escape from me, no room for rebellion, nothing but pure submission...and yet she still struggles.

Despite my control a sly smile crept onto my face as I pocketed a small plastic bag filled with her medicine.

I believe there is sufficient time for a break.

I stood then smoothed out my slacks and tucked in my button down shirt before exiting the garage and locking the door with my personal key. Calmly, I noted the abandoned laundry room.

It seems Revis had finished her chores. Very well, time to continue on my way.

Next, I excited the second door which would lead me into the main house. Upon entering the kitchen I noted Revis leaning forward onto the counter while nursing a mug of steaming coffee despite the late hour.

Without a word I walked toward the cupboards and began to sift through the contents until I came across a large can of minestrone soup. Revis remained silent although she was well aware of my presence.

Often I took great amusement in watching her flinch and tense as I alternated between emotions when I neared her. In a way, I was truly fortunate to have a test subject with such intense reactions as well as a deep attraction toward me. Of course, her constant confessions were bothersome just as her silly notions of freedom were irksome but overall she was a tame nuisance.

Amid my musings, I had already poured the contents into a pot, thankful for the tab atop the can which saved me the extra time I would have wasted if I had to unlock a drawer for the proper utensil and added the appropriate amount of water. Yet after I fixed the heat setting, Revis left her coffee atop the counter in order to advance toward me. I turned and fixed her with a cold look yet remained silent.

Oddly enough, she ignored my expression in favor of staring distastefully at the pot of soup that had just begun to warm.

"Canned soup?" she asked in a disappointed tone.

I raised an eyebrow, "After your stay in Arkham, I had thought any sort of indignation toward certain foods would be nonexistent."

She sucked in a painful breath but refused to meet my gaze in favor of staring into the pot with a tired sort of disdain, "This is simply unacceptable."

Calmly she lifted the pot's handle and leaned over me to dump its contents down the sink. Shocked I froze before gripping her left shoulder with my left hand and her right hand, still holding the pot, with my own.

"Re—"

She flipped her hair over her shoulder and cast me a mocking look, "Honestly, if you expect me to eat something it might as well be something edible."

I exhaled as my grip tightened, "There was nothing wrong with the soup."

I felt my eyebrow twitch as she shook her head, "Apparently all your intellect is wasted when it actually matters. I refuse to eat food which has been subject to chemical modification, processed in a factory, and then distributed throughout countless routes throughout various temperature changes," with a sharp twist she slipped out of my grip, placed the pot on the heated stove, and turned to face me, "There is a much easier, healthier, and cheaper alternative to _that_ filth."

"If you believe I will allow you to cook within this kitchen which holds various weapons then you are far more deluded than I had believed."

She smiled bitterly, a smug sort of agony shining in her eyes, "I would only be cooking under your strict supervision and, of course, I wouldn't directly handle any hot items or sharp utensils."

I exhaled tiredly, "Very well then."

She beamed brightly, "Thank you, Dr. Crane! Now all we need is noodles, some beef extract, various beans..." she trailed off before raising herself up and pressing her lips to the corner of my mouth in a pseudo-kiss.

The nerve of her!

Immediately I pushed her away—

A sharp scream pierced my ears as she curled inward from being sprawled on the—My eyes traced the overturned pot revealing a red hot coil of metal upon the stove...

She didn't, did she?

"Revis..." I reached forward only to be pushed back as she attempted to barrel past me.

Honestly, I was trying to help her but instead she tried to pull antics such as this?

I quickly grabbed onto her arm before she could escape my reach; however, I wasn't expecting her to put up a fight.

She struggled against me, turning every which way as she hollered, "Let go of me! Fuck off! J-Just let go!"

With a bit of difficulty, I secured her other wrist as well then twisted her into my arms in a body bind commonly used at Arkham for troublesome patients.

"Calm yourself, Revis," I hissed as I adjusted my footing.

"D-Don't touch m-me..." she stammered through a tear choked voice.

"Allow me to tend your—"

"I said, 'Fuck off'!" she yelled in a strangled tone before bashing her head into my throat while shoving her weight against me effectively throwing me off balance. As I caught myself against the counters narrowly avoiding the still hot stove, she rushed out of the room. Distantly, I heard a door slamming.

Such a foolish woman!

Not wasting time, I quickly turned off the stove then tore after her. Yet seeing all doors open except the bathroom, it was only too easy to know where she ran off to. Without a thought to her safety, I turned the knob knowing there was no lock to impede me and shoved forward only to have the door open a smidgen then slam shut.

I let out a growl of frustration, "Revis, open the door!"

Once more I tried to push it open but it only shook between our combined force.

Exhaling sharply, I kicked the door harshly and pushed all my weight against it. Almost instantly I heard her gasp of pain and hushed whimper before the weight on the other side of the door slackened, allowing me to sweep the door open and clip her heel and shoulder in the process. Stepping forward I tightened my hand around a fist full of hair and pulled her up to face me.

"Know your place..." I paused for a moment before gathering enough air to continue, "You've become quite an unnecessary," I paused to sneer while twisting her hair harshly, "—No, _worthless _component to my studies. Anytime I acknowledge your pitiful existence or amuse a _pathetic_ suggestion, you should be _astounded_ at my generosity."

I let go of her hair to grip her chin and bring her face closer to mine as my anger faded only to be replaced with a cold rage, "Do not mistake my hospitality for acceptance. Tonight, as your hand's burning keeps you awake, realize it is by my beneficiary whims that you have shelter, food, and some semblance of purpose."

I released my grip on her as I searched her tear shot eyes for any sign of realization; however, I found nothing but emotional anguish and deceitful tears.

She flinched as I turned her around and forcibly situated her near the toilet while I used a key from my suit to unlock the cabinet and gather the first aid kit. Pocketing the key once more I fixed her with a cold stare as I lifted her burned hand by the wrist to better examine the wound.

The outer edges of the burn held reddened blotches of skin but the more severe damage was the heel of her palm which was quickly rising from a pinkish-red to a paler colour. A few scattered burns dotted along her ring and pinky finger although those were less threatening compared to the large area of damage along the heel of her palm as well as the skin adjacent to it.

I tsked before stretching out her arm to extend under the sink's facet. With a simply twist of the knob, cool water began to pour over her hand causing her to hiss and reflexively jerk her arm back.

I merely tightened my grip and pulled her arm forward by her wrist before counting to ten and turning off the water. Briefly I let go of her to open the kit and remove the roll of gauze. My eyes flashed to her shaking form as she warily leaned away from me, refusing to meet my gaze. This would require her complete cooperation, I could only hope she had the sense to realize I wouldn't accept any resistance.

Once more, I lifted her wrist out toward me and began to methodically wrap the gauze around her wound, uncaring if the stiff fabric agitated her burn.

I expected flinching, hissing, glares, swearing, maybe even the beginning of physical struggle but what I did not expect was _tears_.

I had barely begun wrapping the wound twice round, when her shoulders shook as she broke down into sobs...

How disgustingly pathetic. This was entirely unlike Revis. A simple burn shouldn't have her sobbing endlessly; her tolerance for pain far surpassed this—

"I-It...No..." in between gasping breaths and weeping I managed to make out a few strangled words.

Ignoring her annoying behavior, I quickly finished wrapping the wound and using a small clip to keep it in place; however, Revis' tears didn't cease.

A cruel thought lit my mind alight with glee.

Was it possible she understood how useless she was? Had she surrendered to me fully? Or rather, was this merely the beginning of such thoughts...In that case, she would simply need a small _push_ in the right direction to solidify her beliefs—

She tightly grasped my button down shirt and pulled me toward her.

What was she doing?

"P-Please..." she whimpered enticingly as her head remained bowed.

I eyed her with disgust but replied coolly, "If you will excuse me, I must be returning—"

"No!" her head whipped up quickly.

I stared apathetically into her tortured blue, gold eyes, "While your recent injury—"

A harsh, broken laugh poured from her lips as she stared back at me with disbelief written all over her wounded gaze, "D-Did you think I was u-upset from _that_?" she sucked in a painful breath then shook her head as more tears fell, "I-It's not the pain..." her shoulders shook and her chin quivered in between shudders but she didn't drop my gaze, "It's w-w-what the pain _reminds_ me o-of—" once more she was cut off from a gasping breath.

Calmly I placed my hands over hers and attempted to pry them from me but she only grasped tighter and cried out, "No!"

Her hands trembled along with her almost violent shudders as she struggled to control herself long enough to speak, "I-It's too m-much like that energy..." she closed her eyes briefly but then opened them and stared into the distance just over my shoulder, "It's hot...a-and brash, j-just l-li—" a gasping breath interrupted her, "—like the energy of the living."

She burrowed her head into my shoulder despite my initial recoil.

"Y-You, make i-it better...It doesn't h-hurt so badly when your h-here."

What rubbish was she spewing?

"Due to your recent injury, it would be unwise for you to strain your hand," not to mention clinging to me in such an undignified manner was beyond repulsive.

She inhaled sharply and remained frozen for a moment before slowly relaxing her hands and letting them fall uselessly at her side.

"Besides, reliance on outside stimulus to inspire positive emotions is childish. Control your mind and you will control your emotions."

She trembled as she replied in a steadier voice, made firmer by the numbing claws of emotional pain, "I-I can't...I don't know how to."

I opened my mouth to respond but she continued to speak, "I did before...or a-at least I thought I did but I was only running away..." she raised her head to look at me longingly, "Can you help me?"

Despite my internal victory, I forced myself to calm my emotions. I would need to plan things out very carefully at this point.

"Revis," I initiated contact by placing my hand atop her shaking shoulder, "I have been helping you, or so I have tried, yet you've always pushed me away."

Her eyebrows furrowed as she struggled to understand my words, "Y-You've never loved me...You hate me," she closed her eyes, "I can feel it," her eyes opened slightly but she refused to lift her gaze to meet mine.

I moved my hand over her throat in a tender caress before gently rubbing her scalp with my fingers as I cradled her head, "You seem to be mistaken, Revis. I hate the path you've chosen. I thought you loved me and only wanted to assist me however possible..." I exhaled in a resigned way before removing my hand from her head while continuing, "I suppose I was mistaken as well."

She flinched at my soft words causing me to suppress my glee and the smile that would have accompanied it. I could practically feel her pain bleed out with each syllable I spoke as her mind quickly rationalized my earlier insult to insinuate guilt in her blackened heart...

Oh how I felt like laughing, truly her love for me was her everlasting downfall!

I knew my plans which seemed to have failed were actually taking effect. Each day she loves me is a day I have triumphed over her. She may struggle against me but every act of resistance was only a futile attempt to escape me. In all honesty, she might have posed a threat if her earlier mental acuity hadn't dulled under Arkham's rotting touch but now she was as helplessly incompetent as she was helplessly in love.

"Please..."

One word said so desperately with such pain...Perhaps she understood how to please me after all.

"Please help me," she panted lightly as she stared desperately into my eyes, "I want to be someone worthy of you..." her eyes lowered as her voice grew venomous, "_not_ some unstable liability," she once more looked into my eyes with her pleading ones, "Please, Dr. Crane...Help me."

This was it...the moment of victory I had been awaiting.

I reached into my suit withdrawing the small plastic bag and poured its contents into my palm as I asked, "Do you accept the means you'll be expected to undergo if you wish to achieve stability and control?"

Calmly she placed her uninjured hand atop mine and took the two faded red pills as she looked into my eyes and spoke with absolute certainty, "Yes."


	43. Chapter 13: Change of Plans

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers for supporting me and keeping with my erratic updates!**

**So I have a few announcements and I'll try to hit them all from most relevant to least quickly. **

**1) Megamind has retired writing...This is a very very depressing thing for many reasons but one of them (most relevant to this story) is that there will NOT be a sequel. The way I was planning on ending Mors Et Timor is a fitting ending and nothing will be lost but I feel like the story is weakened considerably because most of this is explaining why and how Dr. Crane has Revis around and the sequel (written with Megamind's OC and Joker) includes a plot _after_ the last movie and gives more purpose to everything. So the hints of Joker and the character 'Sable Lukk' will not be explained later on. However, I respect Megamind's choice although I mourn the many brilliant stories she was working on. **

**2) This chapter is based on a true event (a funny one too) Revis' reaction was my own at a friend's house early one morning although it was with tea not coffee. Yea, not a fun experience but word for word that's what happened. Also I have never taken Lithium although I did a bit of research so if anyone would like to correct me (especially when it's Revis' POV) then PLEASE do so.**

**3) I cut my hair so all Joker/Revis cosplays are off the list but I can do a _very_ easy Dr. Crane cosplay (also Roxanne from Megamind) so there might be some vids in the future.**

**4) DC Universe Online is an AMAZING game, I attempted it quite a while ago on the computer and hated how difficult it was but on the ps3 it's absolutely breathtaking and everything is incredibly accurate. I HIGHLY reccomend this to everyone. Related to this tomorrow I'm watching The Dark Knight Rises with a friend at a theatre so I'm extremely pscyhed and hopefully I'll be hit with more inspiration!**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13<strong>

The glare of the rising sun streamed in through the cracked, dirtied windows of the garage mocking me with its illuminating rays.

Unlike the clarity of light which filled the room, I had yet to break past my momentary set back within my research. Already, I was running low on chemicals and other essentials for my work. While my theories were enticing I had no means to bring them to reality. If only I had the same resources as I did before...Of course, I held enough foresight to store a load of surplus items within this hideaway house but even those were running perilously low.

I held power within my work despite my limited freedom to do as I pleased...which wasn't necessarily a fault considering the new doors of opportunity which arose in its place: Revis.

A satisfied smile spread across my face.

It was refreshing to see her so..._tame_.

Her medicine was of a different sort than the ones she used within Arkham due to my inability to choose between whatever drug I pleased. Even so, the effect was _very_ pleasing.

Amazing what change a small, rounded pill could invoke in even the most out of control patients such as Revis. All of her inner strength, even as misguided as it was, her rebellious actions, even her annoying bubbly character eroded away leaving behind a quiet if not slightly morose Revis.

Unfortunately, not even my most recent success concerning the unstable, former mortician could cheer my low spirits. I needed to find a course of action and quickly. While a simple heist may briefly solve my problems, I couldn't depend on such lesser means to secure my resources.

I sighed frustratedly, it would have to do for now...

A sudden procession of creaking caught my attention as Revis slowly walked down the hallway and turned into the kitchen.

Hmm, what an opportune time to further observe her behavior as well as entertain a few curious notions which had been plaguing me. Already, I had anticipated her craving for coffee in order to stay awake during the daylight hours.

Despite her time living within the abandoned Victorian house in which she was required to awake at a normal time, she had fallen into a habit of staying up late and sleeping most of the morning away. In fact, it was quite strange to see her awake so early, even if it was 10:28.

A heavy sigh sounded as she went about her routine unaware I was watching her as I remained within the dining room, patiently bidding my time while I toyed with a pen poised over a notebook depicting various chemical bonds.

The notebook was merely a cover for my true interests but, of course, she would never guess that. And so I was quite content to observe her without her knowledge...

One may argue that by simply observing someone in their natural habitat, the natural course would be changed; however, this rule did not seem to apply to humans due to their repressed animal instincts.

For example, as Revis moved about the kitchen she revealed much about herself. Her shoulders were curved in more than usual as though she was shielding her heart from the world just as her movements as she opened fridge for milk and the cupboard for sugar were robotic as much as they were cautious of not overusing her bandaged hand. Even so, she lacked her usual animation.

Of course, it wasn't only her mannerisms I watched but her appearance as well. Today, she had made use of an empty pen to hold her hair up in a messy twist instead of allowing it to fall about wildly, something which I had never before seen her make use of. If anything, I had come to believe she enjoyed leaving her hair to its own devices allowing it to become as unruly as it liked.

Not to mention, she wasn't wearing her glasses which to her have become sort of a prized possession. Lastly, as she turned to the table, intent upon sitting, she barely gave me a moment's pause before continuing whereas before she would have jumped in surprise.

All of her actions were easily explained by her medication.

Lithium held many properties unique to itself some of which being useful while others were bothersome. Adding Lithium to Revis' life had moderated her once extreme mood swings and allowed her to think calmly.

On the other hand, Lithium caused near extreme dehydration and other side effects such as nausea and headaches which would explain her attempt to cool herself when she was unknowingly overheating from dehydration.

In truth, I hadn't explained the peculiarities of her medicine yet she hadn't questioned it either. Such blind trust was touching...and direly misplaced.

Time passed slowly as she silently sipped coffee without so much as saying a word despite my obvious staring. It wasn't until she had nearly finished her drink that she paused. Slowly, she raised her head and met my intense gaze.

"Dr. Crane?"

I blinked calmly, "Yes, Revis?"

She swallowed uncomfortably before continuing, "Would it be possible for me to tend to my patients?"

I smiled coldly, "Why, that's unfair considering I have not yet finished tending to my _patient._"

She paused, wavering slightly as a mild blush coloured her cheeks.

I leaned forward slightly before continuing, "Have you become unsure of your decision to assist me?"

All colour drained away from her face, leaving her deathly pale, "N-No, I just thought since you've been unable to work—"

My eyes narrowed dangerously, "Whatever would give you _that _impression?"

Her eyes widened slightly, "I-I didn't mean to insult you. I mean, you're still a brilliant doctor but...I know you've been having some trouble recently—I mean, I didn't mean to find out but since the medication limits my control over whatever energy I feel—which is mainly yours because you're really the only one around—which is a good thing—I mean to say—er, I forgot to wear my glasses, I'll be back," she then quickly left the room.

My eyebrow twitched with annoyance.

Very well, if she wished to insult me then attempt to flee from punishment, I'd merely have to amuse myself with a greater punishment. After all, I deserved a bit of leisurely time to reap the benefits of my hard work. Quickly, I reached into to my suit to uncap a small vial. After pouring some inside the remaining portion of her coffee and stirring it in, I capped the vial and leaned back in my seat.

She returned not too long after with her glasses as well. Sitting down she cleared her throat and sat shrunken in her seat before taking a long sip of her coffee—

Her eyes bulged as a she swiftly brought down her mug in order to hold her bandaged hand over her mouth as she struggled to keep the remaining liquid down. Her body shook slightly as suppressed coughs tried to force her to expel whatever liquid remained in her mouth.

Unable to keep her composure she jumped from her seat and rushed to the trashcan a few feet away in the kitchen. While her back was to me, I saw her cough up her mouthful of coffee mostly into the trashcan although a bit came short. Her body shook with racking coughs as she attempted to calm herself.

Any second now, she should be overcome by the newest toxin—

A pitiful whimper was heard before she began to dry heave with the occasional wet cough before a shudder wracked through her causing her to vomit.

I frowned.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

More miserable noises sounded as she tried to breathe over the wet coughing and slight heaving.

I stood uneasily and walked up to her as she panted while tightly gripping the rim of the trashcan, no doubt causing her burn excruciating pain. Her face was flushed and some of her hair had come undone from her twist but she didn't seem to mind. A dripping noise sounded causing me to give her a second glance wondering what exactly had gone wrong.

I stepped forward, careful to avoid the small puddle of dispelled coffee, and placed my hand atop her back in what was meant to be a soothing gesture.

In all honesty, I was only worried about the state of my toxin and its effect but it would be unseemly to act too detached after she was suddenly sick.

I heard the dripping sound again.

"I...I'm bleeding?"

Her voice was tight and uncertain as she lifted her head slightly while she held her injured hand to her face. She drew her hand back revealing blood as it quickly stained her gauze red. It was then I noticed her bloodied nose and flushed face. She swallowed roughly before shaking off my touch to look at the floor sadly, hiding her teary eyes behind her glasses.

"Oh...I made a mess. I'm so sorry."

Before I could reply she moved past me and retrieved paper towels from the kitchen's roll. First wiping off her mouth and nose, she then threw away the sheet and used the others she had grabbed in order to clean up the coffee which had missed the trashcan.

"I'm sorry I made a mess," she laughed softly as she finished cleaning, "Not the best way to start off the morning I suppose."

I cleared my throat but she didn't allow me to speak, "Excuse me, I should go clean myself up."

Just as suddenly she left the room.

I furrowed my eyebrows...

What had happened?

The toxin shouldn't have caused her to vomit...Unless it had adverse effects when combined with Lithium.

I exhaled sharply.

Even now she was a pain!

Things weren't going according to my careful planning. How was I to placate her if the only controlling substance was one which would render my toxins useless? I needed her stability in order to build up her mind's complexity so that I could better tear down elaborate structures of reason and hope. I had grown tired of playing with base emotions and found myself yearning for something more..._invigorating_.

Not for the first time, I wondered how our game of predator and prey would have played out if she had retained her cold mentality upon living in Arkham. She used to be indifferent to all suffering but those of her 'charges'. Within that regard, she was single-mindedly determined—No, _obsessed_ to attend to the deceased with every skill she possessed. Outside of work she lived a lonely existence only enlivened by literature. It would seem that she would be uninteresting and morbid and while the latter was true the former couldn't be more incorrect.

Within our banters and games, I found myself enjoying the refreshing intellectual stimulation. She was no match for my own intellect but she held merit...Then it was all tossed aside with her foolish emotions.

Tch, what useless things emotions were.

As Revis had demonstrated, even beings of slight intellectual capability faltered and even _decayed_ under the perverse touch of 'emotion'. It is true that I deal in the working of emotion—In fact, my entire work revolves around one emotion...but only for one purpose.

I wish only to conquer the minds of those around me by mastering man's single fault: fear. It was simple enough to entrap those who were weak by nature. Emotions—No, _words, _such as 'caring', 'compassionate', and 'merciful' were unneeded for they only marked hesitance and weakness. It was those weak minded fools who so easily succumbed to the reign of fear. Love, hate, sorrow...Such words were misused. Instead there should be ambition, tact, accomplishment.

The world needed a new direction, one which was supported by and would support logical order. Today's world was flawed...It was a cancerous mass of infectious filth devouring its host with no thought toward its future.

I would create the order. I would cleanse the cesspool of vermin. I would triumph in my endeavors not because the blasted Gods favored me but because I fought tooth and nail to earn my position and perfect my skill.

I had no delusion that I would be able to create a new world just as I knew my ideals of an intellectual community were far more idealistic than reality allowed. No, I wasn't foolishly clouded by arrogance or worse yet _hope_ that I may rescue others from their dismal fate.

My true goal lied in revenge...

I had not forgotten the horrors I had lived through just as I would not stop at any length to ensure my pestilence of fear would purge them of their vile ways. Soon, I would rise into power and soon _they _would part with life as pure terror gripped their hearts in a vice so chilling it matched my own heart.

Revis was a mere tool used to achieve my revenge yet broken tools were of no use to me. Although, it would be a shame to cast her aside after all the investment I had placed in her.

Hmm, perhaps she still held merit?

After all, her 'love' was binding to the point of blind trust, that in itself would be useful, but to further utilize her I would need to invest a bit more into Revis' wellbeing. I had no use for an emotionally distraught, irrational asylum patient.

No, if Revis were to be of any use to me she would have to once more become a cold, precise criminal.

The floorboards creaked again, announcing her return as she sheepishly entered the dining room through the kitchen before reaching for her mug. My hand darted out as I stood in order to block her from taking the mug. Her hand snapped back sharply as she regarded me with firm but uncertain eyes.

"Why don't you allow me to clean up, hm?" I asked smoothly before sidestepping her to empty the remaining coffee down the drain.

Her eyes followed me sharply, trying to understand my actions as well as to plan hers.

I suppressed a dark chuckle.

Think as much as you are able, Revis, but you still won't figure out what I have planned for you.


	44. Chapter 14: Desperaration and Delirium

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers for the continous support of my humble yet demented story especially in times like this. **

**The reason for my early update is due to a recent death so I won't have the time at all this week to focus on updating. I'm sorry for any inconviences but this is a special treat for you all. Earlier last week I posted the remaining pieces of my English project last year and you can find them under these titles on my profile page "Feathers", "The Fields", "Scientist or Sadist". The first two focus on Young Jonathan's experiences living with his granny in Georiga (based off of 'Batman Year One: Two Face and Scarecrow') and the last one is an essay debating his overal role in society. **

**Also a reviewer of mine 'Worldwide Phenomenon" asked a few weeks ago if I was interested in roleplaying, having only dabbled in the practice but being curious I accepted. 'Worldwide Phenomenon', 'my best friends ex', and I are currently roleplaying if any of you are interested in reading and joining. I won't be roleplaying for awhile though due to the recent circumstances. The forum is 'Welcome to the Asylum!' and here is a link (although I apologize if it doesn't show up) forum/Welcome-the-Asylum/122668**

**Looking back on chapters I noted that on 'Snow', chapter 24 of Mors Et Timor (Chapter 26 if you count the prolouge) I said that the chapter used parts of my fictional story "Our Dark Love" on my Fictionpress account 'Minion Fish', but I left out the 'fictionpress' part. It's now fixed for anyone who is interested.**

**Finally the qoute at the end "Great achievement is usually born of great sacrifice, and is never the result of selfishness..." was said by Napoleon Hill.**

**Also I do not own Batman in any way, shape, or form.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 14<strong>

The bleak, overcast sky bore down oppressively on all of Gotham. Such dismal weather should be expected when living in such a rotten city. In fact, over time the grey shades of life became a small comfort. Knowing that each life within the filthy city was drowning in sin and agony never ceased to lift my spirits. Humans are thought to be social creatures and so it is only fitting that the entire social hierarchy of Gotham existed only to torment those within. After all, misery loves company.

I blinked boredly as I continued to drive past the outskirts of Gotham in order to reach my newest destination: Wayne Chemicals. Before such a feat would have been staggering due to the high level of security and navigation; however, Wayne Enterprises had suffered alongside countless other businesses while the livelihood of Gotham fell. As the masked crusader, Batman, had fallen into decadence every measure of security, expense of safety, and high intelligence followed as well.

Of course, I still had a few precautions...

The gravel crunched against the van's tires as I easily parked the vehicle adjacent to the side of the factory. Ever so happily, I fingered the rough yet slightly frayed fabric of my mask...

To think we had almost parted ways indefinitely.

Unwillingly, my fist tightened, bunching up the burlap as I thought of my stay within Arkham as a _patient_.

I exhaled tightly in order to focus my mind on my current task. I peered out at the warehouse with dark eyes as my hair fell into my eyes. While I had no greater desire than to carry out of revenge on Arkham both by robbing it of its supplies and destroying its very foundation, it was not yet time to reintroduce myself to the momentarily abandoned asylum.

Unwilling to linger on the past any longer, I reached inside my mask to turn on the air filter before placing the burlap over my head. Despite my experience with wearing the mask, the near suffocating stench of burlap both irritated my throat and all too easily overheated me. Nevermind that, I fingered the large satchel equipped with a few projectile gas capsules, I had work to do.

…Later...

Humming a short tune, I gathered my journal along with a few other items I would need to record my findings. Finally, I would be able to once more make headway within my work.

It seems, I had been too reliant on chemical means to inspire fear...Now I thought it would be best to change my methods concerning a certain woman.

Due to her inability to effectively test my toxins, I would have to resort to other methods to secure my goal. Of course, I would still require test subjects; therefore, it was an appropriate time to pay a visit to _them_.

A small smile played on my lips as I exited the house in order to reach the backyard. The large space was void of decoration and life which suited my means just fine. I had no use for extravagant greenery or lawn arrangements which would demand unnecessary attention and money. Besides, dirt was a wonderful absorbing agent...

With ease, I approached the small structure barely jutting out from the ground as it rested just below the kitchen window. The storm cellar was a wonderful asset to the house I had acquired, an asset which I made full use out of.

I paused before bending over to lift the heavy top, revealing a darkened slope of stairs made from rotting wood. Carefully, I balanced the staggering weight of the roof as it threatened to fall atop me while easing myself into the concrete casing which made up the entrance of the storm cellar.

The cement radiated coldness in a manner unique to structures built underground as I lowered myself fully into its icy jaws. Ever so carefully, I then allowed the roof to fall, shutting out any source of daylight, and leaving me in perfect solitude to begin my work.

I smoothed down my slacks before reaching into my lab coat pocket in order to retrieve a pair of latex gloves. The stretching material felt familiar against my hands, as it well should. A small snapping noise sounded as a soothing peace fell over me. I truly missed such times of silence and ease in which I would be able to more easily conduct my work.

Muffled whimpers reverberated against the stone walls of the sinking cellar. As I continued to walk down the creaking steps more noises sounded. A shuffling was heard, the clink of metal against stone, a short sob sounded before a hiss silenced all noise. Counting the steps precisely, I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and then turned to my right in order to flick the light switch into the 'on' position. Light instantly flooded the room, causing those therein great distress.

A small smile graced my lips as I walked further into the spacious cellar. Panicked eyes darted from myself to other points across the room while hands nervously wrung themselves uselessly. A small child, not yet old enough to attend middle-school, swallowed roughly as she looked up at me with a tear stained face.

"W-Who are you?"

My smile died on my lips.

"What do you want with us?" another voice, this one belonging to a man in his early adult years, sounded.

"You sick fuck, let us go!"

"What is the meaning of this?"

"P-Please...Stop this."

I cleared my throat before staring apathetically at the small crowd of varied persons as they stepped up to the bars of their cages each hoping for a savior or some twist of fate to free them.

Tch, how pathetic.

The small child spoke up once more, "Where's my mommie?"

I coldly appraised the child before walking toward her cage. She cowered in the shadow I cast but her eyes remained haunted by the question she feared to know the answer to.

I kneeled down so I was level with her eyes as I asked sincerely, "Do you miss your mommie?"

Her lip quivered before she replied, "Yes...I want her! Where is she?"

I tilted my head sympathetically, "Why are you so upset? Do you think she wouldn't come back?"

The girl furrowed her eyebrows as she shook her head swiftly, tangled blonde locks flying every which way, "My mommie will come back! She loves me!"

I raised my eyebrows before leaning in closer to whisper to her, "I don't think your mommie's going to come back..."

Her eyes widened painfully before she shook her head and yelled, "No! You're wrong!"

"Get away from her, you freak!"

My eyes slid to the cage across the room, noting the desperate glint in the teenager's eye.

Hmm, most interesting.

I sat back on my heels as I appraised the teenager before asking, "Do you feel helpless? Is it frustrating to be unable to help your sister? Surely it's your fault...Wouldn't you agree?"

I turned slightly to speak to the young child again, "Are you afraid of losing your mommie? Would you be sad if she never came back? Of course, you'd have your brother...but he doesn't care about you either," I sighed before casting the glaring teenager a disappointed look, "Just look at him, so _angry,_ it seems like he blames you for your mommie leaving."

The little girl sucked in a breath as she looked toward her brother for reassurance. The teenager merely tightened his grip on the bars as he yelled, "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! I'll kill you for this!"

The girl began to cry.

"Shh shh shh..." I hushed her soothingly before standing to approach the older brother.

I stood a few feet from his cage when he spat at me.

I frowned.

Such rudeness was unacceptable.

I withdrew a syringe from my lab coat as I spoke to him, "Hold out your arm."

He sneered at me, "Fuck off!"

I raised an eyebrow, "Very well then...I suppose I'll ask your sister instead—"

I had barely turned around when he called out, "No!"

I paused before looking over my shoulder questioningly as he continued, "Wait...I..I'll do it."

Suppressing a smile, I walked toward him and roughly took the extended arm as soon as it breached the bars. Not wasting time I injected the teen with the serum and then pocketed the used syringe as I walked back toward his younger sister—

"You fucker! I told you to stay away from her! You—" his breathing hitched before a strangled noise arose from his throat.

I once more kneeled by the young child's cage and gently spoke to her, "Look over there, I think your brother has something he wants to tell you."

She stiffed her tears slightly despite her runny nose and jerky breathing.

"No! Get away!" the teen wildly swung this arms around as if he was deflecting an invisible attacker.

"Leave me alone!" he screamed hoarsely before kicking at the bars angrily.

The little girl flinched then began to wail.

"It's all your fault! Don't bother me anymore! Ah-Ahhhh! Get off of me!"

Amid his hollering the little girl fell to her knees as she placed her hands over her head trying vainly to block the painful sounds emitting from him.

Those in the rest of the cages shifted uneasily, none were sure how to take the newest turn of events. It was easy enough to hate someone who had kidnapped and caged oneself but upon witnessing the agony of a teenager and the tears of a child, they were stunned.

A woman of middle age reached out from her cage, her fingertips stopping a few inches short of the little girl's cage, "Sweetie, come here...I'll help you."

"Ahh! Ahhhh!" his screaming grew louder as he then wrestled himself into the harsh floor and began to claw at himself violently.

The woman cringed at his yelling but before she could call out to the child again the little girl was lost to her tears.

Amused, I strode up to the screaming youth's cage, enjoying the picture of torment...

Blonde hair, as fair as his sister's was tangled and bloodied by his hands. His skin was flushed a lovely shade of red as he twisted along the floor, uncaring to the harsh metal of the cage as it dug into his skin, bruising him almost as fast as his nails raised bloody welts. Although, it was his eyes I enjoyed the most...So large they seemed like fruit ripened for picking or rather a balloon filled with so much air it threatened to _pop!_

However, all too soon he lost himself to the terror as his body convulsed in painful contractions before falling into silence as his terror stricken eyes stared pointedly at me before one rolled back into his head. An off white foam seeped from his mouth as it was frozen in a perfect mask of horror.

If the room had been unbearable under his haunting wails it was even more horrendous in the aftermath composed of shocked silence aside from the weeping of the young child.

Calmly I returned to the little girl's cage as I asked leaning slightly, "I think your brother isn't feeling too well, do you want to check on him?"

The girl seemed not to hear me over her own distress but I was determined, "Do you want to see your brother? He looks like he needs your help—"

"Stop it."

I straightened out my posture before glancing at the man who had spoken. Pained green eyes met mine as he swallowed, "You've done enough...Don't do this."

I scoffed lightly causing him to scurry to the front of his cage as he pressed against it, his hands gripping the bars tightly, "Please, I'm begging you. _Don't _do this."

"J-Jordan?"

I faced the little girl's cage in time to see her tear stained face, all puffy and covered with snot, contort into another mask of sadness, "Jordan!"

Slowly I approached her, "Do you want to see him?"

She nodded vigorously as she wiped at her face, trying to put on a brave front in order to help her brother.

Very well then, if she wished to see him I would only support the reunion of two siblings.

I reached into my pants pocket and retrieved a set of keys. Finding the master key to all the cages, I then unlocked hers and patiently lead the slobbering brat to her brother's cage. Next, I unlocked his cage door in order to allow the little girl entrance. Once she was inside, I locked the cage.

I heard a shuffling noise behind me as one of the test subjects turned away from scene but I paid it no mind. My eyes never left the little girl as she leaned over her brother's still form and placed a hand on his shoulder, "Jordan?"

When he didn't respond she tapped him more firmly and called out his name once more. She began to panic—After all, she couldn't very well handle the strain of missing her mom and seeing her brother come undone. As she cried she shook his shoulder, moving his cooling corpse uselessly.

I wonder if she'll understand the concept of death before he begins to decay?

"Why...Why are you doing this?"

I glanced across the room in order to see the middle aged woman who had attempted to console the young girl. She seemed worn down and near repulsed, "H-How _can_ you do this? Have you no conscience?"

I paused before responding in order to look about the room.

Decoration was nonexistent. The room consisted of seven cages, four of which were occupied. There was a table on the far end of the cellar, near the staircase which held an assortment of tools I would eventually use once I had narrowed down my selection. Aside from the ever present chill, dull surface of concrete and steel, and the four remaining test subjects, nothing stood out.

Fixing my gaze upon the woman once more I replied, "Great achievement is usually born of great sacrifice, and is never the result of selfishness..." I cast my gaze over each one of them, "You all have been chosen to assist the creation of a grand achievement. Your sacrifices will be valuable assets to a research unparalleled by any other. Please, do try to understand your lives mean nothing. If you wish to live your priorities are askew. Rather you should be wishing for the quickest death."

An uproar of outraged voices abounded but I hardly paid mind to them. Instead I turned away, shed my gloves before dropping them into a wastebasket beside the table, and turned off the light as I ascended the stairs leaving behind a cacophony of desperation and delirium.


	45. Chapter 15: Savior

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank you all for your support and kind words they've been uplifting during a difficult time.**

**Next I have a few announcements to make (all good, or mostly good). I'm updating early today because the funeral/viewing is in an hour and I know this week will be chaotic so I thought it best to update today but next week I'll continue to update on Fridays.**

**Now for the very exciting news...As I mentioned two chapters ago, Megamind had retired writing due to a series of unfortunate computer failures whenever she attempted to type (and severe hand cramping when she attempted writing on paper) but after discussing it we've come to an agreement that I will write as her. That means I'll be studying her writing style, using the many scenes/chapters she's already written, and with her checking my work everystep of the way, it should be almost exactly like her style. We haven't started this yet but we're both excited to continue the story. So yes there will be a sequel and it WILL be by Megamind but I'll just be filling in the blanks using her style of writing. I'll be sure to explain which parts are hers and which are mine but hopefully you won't be able to tell the difference. **

**Lastly the events in this chapter are somewhat true (well, the headache relief bit and story of a two-week migrane) but I didn't have a chance to say that the bottle was 'Extra Strength Headache Relief' because the 'Extra Strength' was in small letters and Revis didn't see it (just as I didn't when this happened to me). Oh and since I do not take Lithium if any of Revis' thoughts/emotions/actions do not go with the effects of Lithium then PLEASE let me know.**

**Also I do not in any way, shape, or form own Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 15 Revis' POV<strong>

Hot water rushed over me reassuringly.

I sighed in contentment while running my hands through my soft yet wet hair. Unfortunately my hair seemed neverending, that was, until my fingers managed to catch in a knot halfway down. Grimacing, I began the tedious task of unwinding the soaked locks from my fingers. It was such a nuisance. At times, I wondered why I bothered with it at all...

Not wanting to waste my time pondering over the condition of my hair, I quickly began my usual ritual of showering. On average, I was able to thoroughly shower within seven to ten minutes, allowing a moment's pause to enjoy the water's relaxing spray; however, with Dr. Crane's absurd regulations my time was limited to twenty minutes making it _very_ difficult to let the stress wash away as well.

I shouldn't complain though...

Shutting of the water regretfully, I reached for the plush towel hanging from the shower rod. After sweeping aside the shower curtain, I carefully stepped out then began drying my long hair.

Ugh, it was such a bother.

Next, I wrapped the slightly damp towel around my body as if such an action was capable of warding off the chills that were certain to creep upon me. Sure enough, my skin broke out in gooseflesh a mere second before I shivered against the slight warmth of the towel.

I was lucky...

It wasn't very often that I had the luxury of living in wealth. Despite the worn state of the house, the most common of its furnishings pointed toward reasonable prosperity. Décor that was overly grandeur was tasteless as much as it was useless; the key to true wealth was in the minor comforts.

It was no concern of mine how the walls were cracked in certain areas or the manner in which the wood had begun to rot in certain areas of the house. Instead, it was from the plush fabric of the towels and the soft and thick texture of the toilet paper that wealth was apparent.

What did it matter if the house was nearly a skeleton of its former self? As long as the windows were shaded by drapery and rugs lined the floors, privacy which was paramount to great privileges often found in high society, was attained.

Walls with fresh paint, adorned by fixtures or paintings, were unneeded. When a home was styled to the pristine yet shallow level of commercial living it became distasteful. Prosperity, privacy, and character were the determining factors of wealth. By those standards, I was quite fortunate to live with Dr. Crane—

A sharp rap sounded causing my head to whip up harshly.

"Revis?" Dr. Crane's suspicious voice called out.

Silently cursing I opened the door, clothes pressed against my chest in order to both obscure his prying eyes and secure the towel to my body.

"I was about to leave," I responded dully before brushing past him to quickly return to my room, ignoring the icy stare as it pierced my back to wrap my heart in a grip of freezing terror.

Upon closing my door, I leaned against it briefly to calm myself from the onslaught of his energy. A sharp stab to my temple caused me to wince and lean forward, allowing my hair to fall over my shoulder as water fell to the floor in steady drops.

Heartbeats? The increasingly quickening beat of my heart as it stained under the pull of his chilling eyes as they invoked sensations of both fear and lust. Or—

Seconds? The steady metronome of despair and impending doom measured by the time in which Dr. Crane would eventually tire of my presence.

I sighed.

What did it matter?

I let out a small grunt while letting my clothes drop in order to hold my head tightly.

I wasn't exaggerating when I told him of my lack of filtering energy two weeks ago... but of course he was distracted for _other_ reasons.

Tears prickled at my eyes...

Why did it have to hurt so much?

The entire house was seeping with pain...agony...despair. It was suffocating sludge, tainting every room, leaving me no escape from its desecrating reach.

But where did it come from?

Surely, Dr. Crane's moods of frustration and malicious intent didn't invoke such emotions from _me_. In fact, he hadn't done anything to me that would be considered violent or threatening by his standards...Of course, my very presence was resented.

I felt his whip like gaze lash me with vexation and repulsion from across the room. At times, another sort of mood fell over him. He became cold and introverted causing me to fear his energy for its slippery, elusive tendrils would caress me in a mocking touch before drenching me in a shocking plummet which drained me of all resistance.

I was mercy to the invisible specters that haunted this house, or rather, _his_ house.

I cast my gaze down to inspect my right hand...The hand which now glistened under a shining scar. It was subtle enough in the passing but upon longer evaluation the scars were only too apparent as they contrast against my pale skin.

I wasn't wanted here...but I had nowhere else to go.

I scoffed.

Who was I fooling? I would never be worthy of Dr. Crane. If anything, I would only be in the way...A useless leech, draining away at his hospitality and generosity.

Why did I burden him? It wasn't my fault I was incompetent in _his_ line of work. Within my own noble career, secure in its placement within the world, I was a brilliant success. Indeed, it was nothing to sneer at...and yet he still found flaws within my work and its purpose.

But now...I had nothing to do.

At times, I would play my violin and the world would fade away to a distant ache but I could only loose myself to that serene dream for so long. Cleaning, too, occupied me for awhile before I easily completed each small task. Normally, I would have been pacing and practically clawing at the walls for freedom...for a breath of fresh air—My throat constricted painfully upon the thought.

No, I was already privileged enough by living with Dr. Crane instead of being locked away in his garage only to be either sedated or restrained when my 'assistance' was unneeded. That garage was a horrid place and yet I found myself missing it. At least the vicious hallucinations and painful disputes were a break from the near unbearable waiting I was forced to endure.

What means did he have to medicate me when he had no purpose for me? It was true that he needed me leashed somehow and if I were less of an unstable loon then I wouldn't cause him so much worry—

Ha! Not worry...No, never worry. I'd simply cause him a great _inconvenience_.

Yet what was I expected to do? He mentioned assistance although he never offered me to either test a toxin or carry out another task for him aside from the usual household chores.

What use was it to be drowning in misery, raw desperation, and ugly hatred? How would my near emotional numbness benefit him? I was able to feel emotions, that much had improved from the last medicine I had been forced to accept—

No, I chose this course of action. Ever since that fateful day within the second 'Arkham' when I realized my true affections toward such a horrific, chilling man, I gave away my freedom with a smile.

Was I smiling now?

I buried my head in my hands as another pang tore through my head.

Enough!

Not angry—No, I didn't have the privilege of feeling that particular emotion— but rather unwilling to waste away to the solemn silence and taunting pain within my mind, I stood and hurriedly dressed. I had barely straightened my wrap across my shoulders when I reached for the hairbrush I was allowed to keep along with my bag from the Victorian house. Unwaveringly, I struggled through the scattered knots and tangles within my hair until the troublesome locks were pinned up with a pen and—for the moment at least—tame.

Not bothering to place my wet towel in the basket of dirty clothes by the door, I left my room rushing to the kitchen. Another, _stronger_, shard of agony pushed itself through my head slowly, pulsating mind searing pain with each frenzied heartbeat which stuttered in my chest.

It was too much...I wanted the pain to leave me.

Without further delay, I opened a small unlocked cupboard and rifled through the contents before I came across a small box which proclaimed in large, white letters against a green background "Headache Relief".

My hands shook as I practically ripped the tiny bottle of pills from its casing.

Normally, I detested all forms of medicine including over the counter drugs such as this...but I was beyond my end.

I needed the pain to go away...

The cap provided a brief struggle before opening to reveal a fair amount of white, rounded pills. My mouth twisted with disdain as the pills reminded me of the drug I was being forced—had agreed to take. The only difference was the colouring. This was white—sweet, sweet white like that of freshly fallen snow—while my _other _medicine was the colour of faded blood.

Cautiously I sniffed the bottle, gagging slightly as the strong smell overwhelmed me. It smelt of old glue, tape, and something else which made my eyes water. Nevermind that, it would take away my pain!

Not bothering to inspect the bottle any further, I shook out four pills and popped them in my mouth before realizing I had no water to use in order to wash the awful taste down.

Nearly gagging as the acrid taste burned into my tongue, I hurriedly sought out a small glass of water.

Blechk, it even tasted of old glue and tape!

The moment enough water had filled the cup, I immediately drank it washing the horrid pills away. Even so, the aftertaste plagued my taste buds but it would be worth it though—Or so I hoped.

In the past, most over the counter drugs did nothing to alleviate my pain unless I took twice the recommended dosage. Grimacing, I remembered the weeks in which a horrible migraine had kept me awake all night crying. In desperation I swallowed five pills and drank half a bottle of cold medicine. I had only wanted to sleep...but I was awake all night enduring the pain without feeling one bit of the so called 'relief'.

I closed my eyes and evened out my breathing before calmly capping the bottle and placing it inside its box before putting it away—Should I?

It would only be a bother to have to return for more... Another brutal sensation bludgeoned my skull mercilessly efficiently blocking out any further argument.

Please, please work...Free me of this pain.

I moaned dejectedly as I placed a cold hand to my flushed forehead. The pills wouldn't work instantly, I understood that, but I needed relief _now_!

Perhaps...it would be best if I were to wait in the kitchen just so that when the pills finally came into effect I wouldn't have to move too much to return them. Also the cool tile of the kitchen floor was calling to me.

Shuffling to the wall opposite of the counter, I slid down it before closing my eyes and wishing oh so desperately that I would soon be free of the raw hurt.

…

Mercilessly the minutes ticked away as my pain seemed to intensify. I pressed my hands tightly around my head (even though the box was beginning to bend under my finger's grip) as I let out a ragged breath, hoping desperately this head splitting ache would leave me.

Twenty minutes of agony...surely that was enough to wait? Ugh, if anything the pain seemed worse.

There was a solid source of pain in my stomach as well...then as if to make matters worse my heart began to pound while my head felt light and dizzy. My fingers shook throughout my body's slight shudders. Yet sadly the pain was not dulled but rather it was highlighted under that sharp, hot, and high strung feeling.

The sliding glass door (usually locked) slid open before closing but before a tell-tell click of the lock could be heard, a slight surprise then pure disdain filled the room with a suffocating feel.

"Revis?"

His voice was normally a cool oasis soothing my worried emotions to a numbed degree but now it grated on my nerves making my pained stomach lurch with nausea.

"What are you—"

I looked up with tears in my eyes, "It's of no—" a stab of searing pain cut me off, grimacing I continued, "—consequence to you."

Unwilling to stay in the same room as him, lest he should find more flaws in me, I stood unsteadily before turning—The room wavered before my very eyes causing me to slump dizzily against the wall.

I flinched as cold hands touched me. A sharp terrorizing moment of fear shot through me, catching my breath.

"If you become a _liability _it will only wear on my work; therefore, it is indeed of consequence to me."

Heartless bastard…

I gasped trying to contain the staggering pain along with the fevered dizziness; however, as he shifted his grip upon my arm the slightly wrinkled box of pills fell to the floor with a distinctive thud followed by the light pitter patter of shifting pills.

Narrowed eyes viewed me with intense scrutiny. An inferno of brash anger and a black haze of suspicion flared causing me to whimper and curl into myself awkwardly as he refused to release my arm.

"What did you take?" he hissed before bending over to retrieve the bottle of pills himself.

I stood shivering, unable to do anything else but await his dark judgment—No, _punishment_.

Venomously he spat questions at me, "What were you thinking? If any thought had crossed your mind at all—" he paused and regarded me with eyes sharper than ice and certainly as cold, "How many did you take?"

"F-Four…" I stammered out too terrified of his harsh disappointment—No, he couldn't be disappointed that required some semblance of expectation or trust. Rather, I was fearful of his all too overwhelming energy atop my other pains.

Perhaps if I tried to explain to him what happened, he won't be so angry?

"I-I'm sorry, Dr. Crane but I knew what I was doing. I'm still conscious so I can't be overdosing...I-I just don't feel good right now."

His razor sharp gaze cut through my reasoning with ease, "Oh? You think you have to be unconscious and foaming at the mouth to 'overdose'? Yet you've ingested 2,000 mg of which you should have only had 1,000 at the most.

'Tell me Revis, are you dizzy? Shaking? Suffering from a severe headache? Does your stomach feel like a nauseous weight threatening to throw back up whatever you've eaten? Are you suffering from disoriented thinking?"

I opened my mouth to speak but he cut me off.

"Don't bother answering, I know it's true," since when had blue eyes burned so fiercely? "Thankfully this is a mild overdose which means you can suffer while thinking over your mistake—" his eyes filled with contempt as he sneered, "—unless you'd prefer to have your stomach pumped? I'm sure I could manage that much despite our limited resources."

I-It was too much...

I gave into my tears as I yelled, "I-I just wanted the pain to stop!"

I tried to wrestle my way out of his grip but he held fast.

It was a lost cause, I knew that...Why did I even bother with fighting?

Shaking even more I continued at a quieter voice, "I-It was too much...the energy hurt too much..." in a broken whisper I spoke the words I had dreaded to admit, "I'm sorry for failing you."

He was silent for a moment before his energy shifted, turning into something smooth and malicious.

"Failing me? Why Revis, you never had the means to do much of anything let alone the chance to _please_ me."

My breath caught as I stared numbly at his tie, unwilling to look up into that cruel face...those sinister, blue eyes...

He exhaled disdainfully before dropping my arms as if it was too much of a bother to keep me from hurting myself—

Why would he when he seemed to master that aspect of our relationsh—

Who was I fooling? I was nothing to him...

Without a word he left me alone in the kitchen, I heard the creaking floorboards, the closing of a door, then silence: I was alone.

The tears threatened to overwhelm me amid my other sufferings but I refused to allow myself to be swept away in a mental break lest it draw Dr. Crane back to calm me—

If...if he would even bother to. The uncertainty of everything, of my worth—What worth?—Of my place—What place?—Of Dr. Crane—He was never a consistency in my life, rather he _defined_ me—

No, he didn't. I was death—I was empty.

I was free—from making choices.

I was..._his_.

His to do with as he pleased, his to torment as it suited him, his to command, his to possess, his to abuse, his to shatter...but what does it matter if he doesn't want me?

Enough!

Without giving a clear thought to my actions I hurriedly raced to the sliding glass door, pleased in a bittersweet way that Dr. Crane was too preoccupied with tending to me to remember to lock the door—What was he doing outside anyway?

Nevermind that, this was my chance—To do what? I couldn't escape...Despite all he has done and will do, I didn't _want_ to leave him.

The cool air came as a brutal shock against my feverish thoughts. The suffocating delirium seemed to clear away, leaving me a gnawing mass of pain in my heart.

Such a beautiful sky...So grey and low, seemingly close enough for me to reach up and touch. A sharp, cool wind washed over me, twisting my skirt playfully...

A storm was coming.

The wood of the patio was rough and I feared splinters if I were to wander about it with my bare feet yet feeling the sudden lurch of my stomach I knew I should be sitting. My eyes scanned the barren yard, littered with rocks, dirt, and the occasional glint of metal or glass within the large area. Just before I had given up hope I noticed a structure adjacent to the house. The small slightly sloping feature seemed to be the entrance to a crawl space of some sort.

Oh well, it'd have to do.

Careful of sharp objects and wary of my increasingly pounding headache I managed to make my way to the lid of the crawlspace where I situated myself upon it. The cool feeling of shingles seemingly moistened by the rain that had yet to come calmed me in a way I hadn't felt since—I heard a faint whisper of noise.

No, that's impossible. I'm alone...it's just the wind.

Said wind, whipped around allowing a few tendrils that had escaped my updo (courtesy of a pen) to rise and fall in time with the air currents. If only Dr. Crane would allow me outside more often...Especially in such nice weather—

A sharp pain tore through me causing me to cry out softly.

I held my head as the energy continued its onslaught. If anything the energy was stronger—

Ha! Was this it? The world had finally been overwrought by humanity's black despair? Now the very earth was tainted and corrupt?

I scoffed then closed my eyes and breathed in deeply from my nose trying to calm myself with the smell of fresh—Rotting...

My eyes snapped open.

Rot...it was here, something was wasting away—but what? There was nothing out here—

Another noise caught my attention directing my gaze upon the very structure which I rested upon. Soundlessly, I stood uncaring if I idly cut my feet at the ground's uneven surface. Scarcely daring to breathe amid my spinning head, wrenching stomach, and splitting migraine, I instead bent down to lift the surprisingly heavy rooftop of the crawlspace.

Not a second after I had allowed a bit of air to enter to sealed structure then did the stench of rot fill my nose with a bittersweet nostalgic feeling. Despite its odor, it was a familiar smell...One I feared I would forget. Yet when there was erosion of the flesh there was a duty for me to uphold.

I looked down into the opening in the ground expecting dust, grime, even a scurry of spiders but instead was met with a dark hole tunneled in by cement. My arms shook under the weight of the lid...

Should I—No, there was no argument in the matter. I was one of Death's instruments and now I was needed.

With grim determination I shifted the weight of the rooftop as I managed to singlehandedly maneuver myself into the cool depths of the earth. My skirt flared around my bare feet as I dropped down and simultaneously let go of the lid. After the echo of the lid faded away, I was caressed by earth's nullifying embrace. Such things as light, sound, and life were unnecessary. Soothingly enough it reminded me of a stone grave...So cold, peaceful in its serene depths of isolation...such silence—

A muffled whimper sounded, causing me to exhale in irritation.

Cautiously, I felt around the stone, intrigued to find that there were actually wooden stairs leading down further into the earth. Following the sickly sweet scent of decomposition, I navigated myself to the bottom of the stairs. All around me was absolute pitch...

How was I supposed to see anything? Perhaps there was a light switch?

Swallowing roughly, I continued to search the expanding edge of the walls until I accidentally bumped into a hard structure. My breath escaped me in a muffled gasp causing me to bend over slightly—There it was!

Warily of the light I kept my gaze to the floor as I turned the switch.

The feeling of pain and anguish amplified with the light's burning touch; however, instead of desperation and panic I felt hope and anger. Bracing myself for the worst possible outcome—although, I could hardly think of one worse that I was already in—I raised my eyes to view the room.

Cages...Cages everywhere and in the cages were people.

My heart stopped in my chest for a moment before pounding.

People...People who would hate. People who would judge. People who would inflict pain...Nasty, wicked people.

A voice broke through my panicked train of thought.

"Save us!"

I cast my gaze to the desperate voice...Her sweat slicked hair, dirtied skin, and pleading eyes seemed dull to me. She wasn't worth anything let alone my attention.

Once more, I peered about before successfully locating the body—er _bodies_.

A small, humble smile graced my lips.

My my, it seems I'll be working late into the night.

_"Please, _help us!" another voice sobbed brokenly.

I froze...Why did they continue to bother me? Unless they wished to join the others in death (and who would I be to deny them that noble endeavor?), I had no use for them.

"Don't let him hurt us anymore!"

My eyes flashed to another cage in which a man barely in his twenties was desperately trying to reach out to me despite the metal bars which held him in place.

What did he know how pain? Of imprisonment? Yes, he was contained but he had no idea the extent of shackles which was possible within the bondage of another let alone the amount of suffering, of pure anguish, one could possibly comprehend within that tie.

"Why are you just standing there? HELP US!"

"Yes Revis, help them..."

I gasped in surprise as firm hands tightened upon my shoulders.

How had he entered without me noticing?

I shuddered which caused him chuckle softly before leaning in to whisper at my ear, "Save them, Revis. Cast out the boogeyman that frightens them so...After all," his nails dug painfully into my skin despite the wrap that covered my shoulders, "you would know best how to vanquish your inner deamons."

I panted slightly trying to comprehend all that was happening—

"Why isn't she fighting him? Hey lady, are you on his side?"

I closed my eyes as the clamor in the room rose.

In a sharp tone I lashed out, twisting out of Dr. Crane's grasp to face him head on, "They are of no concern to me; _however,_ those patients which have been awaiting me..." my gaze darkened into a blazing glare, "How _dare_ you keep me from my charges! You have no right to—"

Calmly he strode up to me before fixing me with a cool gaze, "Must you be so _unstable_, Revis? I had full intentions of informing you of the condition of your '_patients_' after I was finished."

I jerked back by reflex but was unable to escape his hand as it wrapped around my shoulder and turned me to the cage I had been fixated on earlier, "Couldn't you just wait until the starving girl forced herself to eat her dead brother?"

The cage was indeed occupied by not only my patient but a small child. She stared lifelessly at the floor, seemingly undisturbed by the body not even two feet from her. She was unimportant, merely another tool for Dr. Crane's research yet if she had done as he suggested...

I sharply turned myself around so that I had some distance from him despite the hold he kept on my upper arm, "Desecration of the dead under _any_ circumstance is unforgivable."

His eyes were steady, unflinching of my words, unwavering in his decision.

"You're so consumed by your desire to act as 'Death' and yet you're so pitiful. You have no niche within this world other than to scrap at the ashes of civilization thinking it actually matters. Let me clarify a point for you, Revis," he leaned in close despite how much I tried to lean away, "You're helpless, unworthy of any task greater than that of a lowly servant. You're not an envoy of 'Death', you're a mockery of all you stand for. You're worthless, Revis...utterly worthless."

His words slashed my heart to ruin...H-He was wrong. I had purpose. I had worth...

I shook my head numbly, "You're wrong...I—"

"What irrational _delusion_ are you clinging to now? Do you believe a life of servitude is something to be proud of? That _you_ a mere _burden_ could amount to anything above your station?  
>N-No, he was wro—<p>

Suddenly I found myself pressed up against a cold, cement wall as eyes, such chillingly sinister eyes, bore into my own terrified ones.

"You're all alone without me..." he leaned in closer, not allowing me an inch of room to squirm, "Without me there would be no one to notice you," as he spoke his hand slithered along my side before rising to ghost around my neck teasingly, "Without me you would be unable to stand on your own," he tightened his grip causing me to stiffen as my head throbbed in time with my racing pulse, "I give you purpose, Revis..." in a hushed whisper he sealed his words with an aching kiss.

The cries of the people in cages, the nostalgic smell of decomposition, the flicker of the lights as my eyes fluttered closed, all of it faded away in the moment he pressed his lips against me. It wasn't a chaste kiss...it was rough, hateful...demanding—No, _possessing_.

He forced his lips against mine again and again, barely giving me time to process anything let alone struggle against his sweet violation.

Dr. Crane...How wrong I was to ever think I could live without him, without this: the terrifyingly soothing feel of his hand against my neck, the prickle of gooseflesh as his exhalations tickled the sensitive skin of my collarbone, the poisonous love that ate away at my heart with acidic glee. My head felt too light almost as if it would float away...

Reality came crashing down with jagged shards of air as it filled my weakened lungs. I hung my head against his chest, hearing his heart as it beat in a slightly quickened manner, inhaling his tantalizing yet elusive scent, feeling the smooth texture of his clothing against my cheek.

I didn't bother flinching as he raised a hand to rest atop the back of my head. Instead, I reveled in the sensation as he pressed me to him.

"I shall allow you to practice your particular brand of work whenever it suits you. You had only to ask me..."

Numbed yet filled with his energy, what else would I need to survive but _him_, I nodded grateful of his generosity, "I love you..."

I felt his mouth turn into a sinister smile against my hair as he whispered haughtily, "I know."


	46. Chapter 16: Defying Death

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers for sticking with my story for so long and finding enjoyment in it. I hope I can continue to please you all as the story progresses!**

**That being said, I'm finally back to my normal update schedule of Friday and since my semester ended I'll have plenty of time to devote to writing. **

**Speaking of which I have a small note for this chapter and I want you all to try and bear through Revis' extremely passive beginning (also the words writen in bold are the negative thoughts within her mind just in case it wasn't clear) because it does get better.**

**On a related note I began a Dr. Crane/Scarecrow fanblog the web address 'luxanimus' dot 'wordpress' dot 'com' you'll have to put it together and change the dots to . because Fanfiction likes to edit out web addresses. I'll be updating either almost daily but there's no set schedule. **

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 16<strong>

Sometimes fate was cruel...other times fate was of a kind humor...but now fate held a certain black humor to my life.

Was it a blessing or a curse to love Dr. Crane?—Or was I being rather pompous to think I was allowed to question my own mental perspective?

I couldn't trust my core beliefs, _especially_ if they contradicted Dr. Crane in **any** way. I was blessed to have someone so attentive to my wellbeing just as I was cursed to question and doubt the one thing that gave my life purpose.

How silly I was to believe that being Death was all that I was destined to become! Then again, how was I supposed to predict or even _comprehend_ the higher workings of someone as knowledgeable as Dr. Crane?

I wasn't an idiot—I had educated myself quite thoroughly in many aspects of science, philosophy, language, and history; however, my accumulated knowledge paled in the greater intellect of Dr. Crane.

It only made sense that so much of our conflict arose from my misguided attempts to understand his actions or attempt to validate mine. Thankfully, Dr. Crane is a forgiving man...or rather he will be once I account for my many rebellious and ill thought confrontations.

But surely his _benevolence _was apparent as he graciously allowed me to assist him—finally!—by using my masterful skill as a mortician in order to honour his test subjects, my patients, while easing his mind of how to rest and give rest to the remains of his work. While all of my actions were closely monitored, it was a near cathartic experience to once more devote my entire being into my patients—

_"You're not an envoy of 'Death', you're a mockery of all you stand for. You're worthless, Revis...utterly worthless."_

A small frown tugged on my lips.

He was right...I was unworthy of him—

_"You have no niche within this world other than to scrap at the ashes of civilization thinking it actually matters."_

I was unworthy of anything...

I had thought Death was a wrongly disgraced title. So many people hated and feared death; therefore, any derivatives of Death, such as undertakers, were regarded with contempt.

Since burial began, those who had undertaken the honourable role of caregivers to the deceased were despised and thought to be of the lowliest, most diseased filth. Upon becoming a mortician myself, I resented their resentment.

I too had suffered from loss, felt the chilling despair which accompanies mourning, but instead of fearing and holding hatred towards Death, I was drawn to it. Nothing was more peaceful, if not bittersweet, than giving myself to black despair and falling into the chilled embrace of the graveyard.

Long days spent in pensive repose filled me with a sense of completion; to rest amid melancholy and pain tinged remembrance opened a place of sanction. Why would I subject myself to the brash, overwhelming chaos of the living when I could devote myself to those who _needed_ to be remembered, to be honoured.

Perhaps I too was tainted—the very word felt wrong which only furthered my point—by Death's embrace.

A sharp pain tore through my heart.

It was difficult to believe I was at the same level of Death in the eyes of others...in the eyes of Dr. Crane.

Yet he also saw through my flawed—flawed?—logic and attempted to steer me in a clear, more redeeming—why must I be redeemed?—path. Of course, I foolishly fought against him in the past but now I was more open to his help. It was amazing to think that my failure within life would benefit someone as brilliant as him!

Yet...I was so unworthy of his help. Let alone he, himself.

I was so rotten...so deluded.

It—No, _I_ was so shameful in my choices. Despite the harm of my abilities I eagerly awaited each patient I received. Not only that but I even compromised his good will and generosity in order to sully—another hurtful pang struck me—myself further.

Tears filled my eyes.

I was so horrible...So corrupted and worthless. It was truly disgusting how far I had fallen when taking into consideration my underhanded and disgraceful behavior. It shames me to admit that in order to respect my charges and better serve them I had deceived Dr. Crane.

No matter of his sweet intentions to help me—Ha! What a hopeless endeavor—I instead betrayed him. Or rather I only proved his distrust of me by slyly resisting him and thereby verifying his repulsion for me.

With each pill I pretended to take, I furthered the wedge between us.

Yes, my emotions were rising in potency—and by association my love for my doctor and my despair over the horrid actions I took—but my abilities to filter the once offending energy was restored.

Even so, it was such a dastardly act of deception...

I was truly a lowly, base creature if I sought to better serve and honour the deceased instead of abiding by Dr. Crane's healing instructions. At times, I longed to tell him of my deceit but I found myself unable to speak.

Oh how unbearably selfish I was to hide my betrayal. Yet I couldn't allow Death's title and responsibilities to fall from my unworthy hands...And so, in my filthy and lowly hands I continued to carry out Death's work.

"Revis, the coffee is done. Unless you wish to stand there distractedly all night, I suggest you help yourself to some coffee."

I winced at his tone while feeling the true bite of his words.

_"...the coffee is done..." – _**"You're wasteful of my hospitality."**

_"...wish to stand there distractedly..." – _**"You're an incompetent waste of flesh."**

_"...help yourself..." – _**"You're disgusting in your gluttony and pride. Do you think you're worthy of anything I have to offer?"**

_"...coffee...coffee..." – _**"Why must you be so wasteful and greedy? You don't deserve anything."**

A regretful feeling tightened my stomach unpleasantly as I lost any desire to drink coffee. Yet to waste his resources was beyond rude. My shoulders tensed as I struggled to breathe correctly.

In near robotic movements, I gathered the milk and sugar, my heart pounding painfully in my tight chest as I translated the uneasy silence between us.

Filling the mug with coffee...** "You're unworthy of my generosity."**

Placing the empty pot (with only enough coffee for one) into the coffee maker... **"So inconsiderate, you're a nuisance."**

Adding a dash of milk... **"You ungrateful leech! Aren't you already binging on my food?"**

Using four spoonfuls of sugar... **"You disgusting pig!"**

I tightly closed my eyes and focused on breathing evenly—I didn't deserve to breathe the same air as anyone, let alone, _him—_before I returned everything to its proper place and quickly—**"Such a lazy, useless wretch!"—**cleaned the coffee maker.

Feeling faint I took my mug of coffee—I don't deserve this—and journeyed to the couch in the living room as his true feelings struck me over and over.

I was too scared to feel for myself what he _truly_ thought of me but my mind provided me with (most likely) accurate examples of his hatred.

Curled up on the couch, I listened to him rifling through the kitchen—**"Only to see what's remaining at the end of your pillaging."—**while trying vainly to stop the slight tremors in my hands.

If I spilled anything—My hands jerked, sloshing the liquid dangerously as I thought of the repercussions of my near certain failure.

Too worried to let it pass, I quickly drank two large sips—**"Vile pig!"—**of scalding coffee.

I heard the floors creaking as Dr. Crane appeared before me briefly as he made his way to the other side of the couch—Yes, move far away from my contaminating filth.

He paused before addressing me, "Aren't you going to eat tonight?"

Once more I heard the _true_ meaning of his words.

**"Will you greedily stuff yourself any more than you had earlier?"**

I shook my head, my hands tightly gripping the burning—good, I deserved it—mug, "I'm not hungry."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him shift around slightly, "I don't recall you eating anything today and if I remember correctly you didn't eat much yesterday."

**"Are you attempting to hide your selfish acts of stuffing your face? How can you even try to disguise your wasteful manner of grossly devouring everything you can get your hands on? You're so disgusting. It's annoying and remarkable to watch you ruin everything with your inconsiderate actions."**

I exhaled softly, a butterfly's flutter of a breath as my stomach tossed and twisted painfully.

I felt his gaze dig into me, "Then again, I suppose your medicine is affecting your appetite. It's not an uncommon reaction..." he made a small noise of pondering the matter before using the remote on the coffee table to turn on the TV.

A sharp remorseful pang shot through my agonizingly tight chest...

—**"See how you're once more giving into your deceitful ways? Your very presence is an unsightly, cancerous sore. For how long will you litter the air with your unworthy, rotting words? Do you enjoy taking ceaselessly from me? You deserve to drown in your own filthy contamination!"—**

My head beat down on me heavily while I quickly drank the coffee— **"Ungrateful leech!"—**as Dr. Crane avidly watched the news.

**"You don't deserve any of this! I hate you! You're an unwanted **_**burden**_**."**

After finishing my drink—**"Careless pig!"—**I was about to rise, when suddenly a news report caught my attention.

"Tonight we have a very special guest joining us. As a survivor of the horrible tragedy a year ago, Isabella Thompson has come forward to share her experience at the hands of a soulless criminal," the plastic looking news reporter solemnly stared at the camera before the screen split into two sections.

The female news reporter remained on the left side of the screen while the other—My eyes widened disbelievingly.

"Hello, Isabella. Thank you for joining us tonight. I know this must be terribly hard for you...You're such a _strong_ woman for surviving everything you have and the _coming forth_ to _share_ your story with us. Tell me, Isabella, how did you escape from that terrible situation?"

No...It couldn't be.

The woman—surely it wasn't—on the right side of the screen smiled grimly, "Thank you for having me...And to answer your question, I honestly wouldn't have survived that night without the rescue of those brave policemen. I owe them my life—"

The news reporter cut her off in a manner that was unique to news reporters' alone, "But how does one just walk away from the clutches of a crazed criminal such as Revis and live to tell about it—Especially when your tormentor is _still_ out there?"

T-The tramp...

Dr. Crane's eyes flashed toward me accusingly as he connected the dots.

I was too shocked to do much of anything other than numbly watch as the tramp swallowed nervously before brushing her expertly styled hair—a big change from the greasy, limp locks I remembered—over her shoulder.

"Well it wasn't easy...The months of physical therapy to t-treat my severe burns—"

She was cut off again by the reporter who nodded sympathetically before speaking, "Burns from a crematorium? Reports say this _criminal_, 'Revis', locked you inside with the intent to _burn you alive_?!" she shook her head sadly; her stiff and badly dyed hair remained perfectly in place.

The tramp nodded slowly, "S-She tricked me," she blinked away false tears, "I had no idea she was _insane—_I—It's a miracle I was rescued in time...but I see that as miracle as God's work."

The reporter blinked in surprise, "God's work?"

The tramp, shifting slightly in designer clothes that had replaced the grey sweats from before, smiled a timid but glowing smile, "Yes, I knew that God had a higher purpose for my life but without her, Revis—my captor—"

_Captor?!_

"I would have never realized my true role in His plan."

_Your purpose?!_ You were a lowly piece of _scum_ when you crawled up to my funeral parlor!

Hopelessly eating up the tramp's words, the reporter asked, "What is your new found role?"

The tramp looked deeply into the camera wearing a soft yet slightly awed and saddened expression, "My role is to show Gotham and the world that villains such as Revis cannot control us."

The news reporter furrowed her perfectly shaped eyebrows in a 'musing' expression which thinly veiled her confusion, "I understand...but you must have been worried or at least nervous to show your face to the world knowing the possibility that Revis, of all people, might see—"

The tramp sat up straight and interrupted the reporter, "No, I _want_ her to see me. I want her to see my face everywhere and hear my story again and again so she and the rest of the criminals will know that we _aren't_ victims. Just knowing she'll be reminded over and over that she failed in her demented plans everywhere she goes, is justice enough for me. But I want _all_ of those sick psychos out there to know that we're taking control of our lives and _no_ villain in Gotham will emerge triumphant."

The reporter nodded in agreement, "Wow...such brave and touching words from a _true_ survivor. Thank you, Isabella, for talking with us tonight. We appreciate your courage and I think all of us can learn from this inspiring story."

The tramp spat out some polite reply before the screen returned to a full screen of the news reporter along with a male reporter I hadn't seen earlier.

"If you'd like to hear more of Isabella's amazing story you can buy a copy of "Defying Death: My Tale of Survival", a memoir written by Ms. Thompson throughout her road to recovery," she turned to the man sitting beside her, "She's such a remarkable woman. Don't you think so, Tom?"

I tuned out the news as my mind began racing.

The tramp...She survived?

_"We walked in on your killing two people. One of them is dead, the other is undergoing treatment within the Intensive Care Unit."_

The policemen never specified _which_ of my victims had been in the hospital but I always assumed it was my boss—although he probably died from the stupidity of the policemen as they tried to 'help' him by unhooking the bags of blood. But..._HOW WAS SHE ALIVE?!_

The _NERVE_ of her! Writing a memoir?! About **what**?!You're two or three minute stay in a crematorium? Calling me a _captor?!_ I didn't kidnap you! Her **audacity**! The _arrogance_ of that **TRAMP!—**

"Revis?" Dr. Crane asked, attempting to gauge my reaction.

I swallowed before exhaling and forcibly relaxing my tensed body and tightened grip on the mug. I cast him a side glance but said nothing...

My mind was already beginning to plot my vengeance. _"Defying Death"_—no, she was mistaken, **gravely** mistaken.


	47. Chapter 17: Welcome to--

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all you amazing readers and reviewers for giving me such wonderful support. I hope you will continue to enjoy my story as it progresses!**

**Now I was going to wait til' Friday but I'm in a good mood after my Batman marathon and decided I would give you all an early update as I sip egg nog out of an Alice In Wonderland teacup and bake gingerbread men. This chapter is probably one of the most hilarious ones I've written with a strangely uplifting tone so I hope you all can get a few laughs. **

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 17 Dr. Crane's POV<strong>

Over the course of the last week and a half I've noticed some strange peculiarities about Revis...

I hadn't given her any intentional thought since our discussion within the storm cellar. In fact, she hasn't given me a reason to exercise my new will upon her aside from my initial instructions. Apart from the few times in which I allowed her to partially (due to the limited resources) embalm her 'patients', she made herself scarce and was utterly compliant.

If I hadn't seen her come to life as she worked on whatever 'patient' I granted her permission to use, I would have assumed her spark had dulled to a painfully dull degree. Admittedly, I was curious as to the change embalming would invoke in her after almost two years of absence from a morgue as well as the numerous traumas to her psyche. In a way I was not disappointed.

When Revis worked on whatever dead test subject had withered away, her entire focus was directed into her tasks. Despite the lack of a completely sterile environment she worked without complaint and without pause. Not once did she speak or even cast me a glance as I watched her intently. Blue, gold eyes only gave audience to whatever pathetic, lifeless thing had already been used beyond its worth.

Such a shame...that very same focus and swift precision could be utilized in greater areas of study and experimentation rather than rusting away on decomposing filth.

Thankfully, my investments in Revis were not entirely wasted. Rather, her growing attachment and cold, surgical manner in which she conducted her embalming (after the initial inspection in which a sickening, sweetly sympathetic expression marred her features) was almost paramount to her original mentality.

Unfortunately, unless she held the potential to exceed my expectations, that was the closest I would ever reach to conversing or even observing Revis before Arkham had sullied her promising mind. It was truly a shame...

Yet I had other plans for Revis.

Her submission was a _very_ enjoyable turn of events. In fact, I _thoroughly_ enjoyed it.

It was a relief to allow my words to pierce her silly heart without complaint whereas before she would have turned to an emotional extremity such as rage.

Ah...her rages and spontaneous bouts of violence were not missed either. No longer would I suffer a cautious approach in preparation for an outburst of some sort.

Yes, Revis was greatly improved by her unhealthy (yet not unwanted) infatuation with me. In the beginning, I was wary of her advances before I realized the full potential, the great leverage, which she granted me with those three words.

On the other hand, my final plans have not yet come into existence due to the lagging factor of time. In order for me to fully reap the reward of owning Revis, I would need my seeds of doubt, suggestion, balance, and seduction to take root within her core. Revis looked to me with a sort of reverence and awe but lacked total commitment. Despite her (thankfully lessening) declarations of eternal love, she still held reserves of herself hidden deep inside.

Tch, how foolish you were Revis...

Did you not think I would be unable to possess every fibre of your being? You fell within my trap and when you had thought you found an escape you merely buried yourself deeper in my reach. Once I was freely given the leash and collar, I enjoyed the task of tightening that collar, sometimes to a painful degree as you would know. Yet now I would have to lengthen your leash.

I suppose today would suffice for my plans...

Oh Revis, I believe today will be quite interesting.

Speaking of which, Revis should be within the laundry room, busy with the usual household chores.

Silently, I crept out and gently opened the door from my laboratory which had been converted to such from a garage that adjoined the laundry room. As expected, Revis was struggling to lift a heavy bundle of sheets from the washing machine to the dryer. Also expected of Revis was the manner in which she was attempting this would-be-easy feat.

While the washing machine and dryer were placed next to each other she chose to stand in front of the dyer (on the left) and awkwardly strain her body over the opened door in order to reach into the washing machine (on the right). I suppose she didn't want to bother with accidentally closing the dyer's door or walking around the door altogether but whatever the reason it only made my next actions so much easier.

Just as Revis unsuspectingly lifted the large, wet, and tangled sheets, trying to part them in order to get a better grip, I stealthily approached her before sharply pulling the top of the sheet over her.

I heard her sudden intake of breath but paid it no mind as I quickly tangled her into the large mess of sheets. By the time she grounded her senses against the sudden loss of sight and movement I was able to easily lift the tightly wound bundle of sheets with Revis tightly tucked away inside.

Unwilling to make things more difficult, I quickly walked back through the (thankfully open) door to my laboratory and with some difficulty managed to press the button which would open the garage doors.

At this point, Revis had most likely realized I was the only candidate for her 'mysterious captor' and now was making barely understandable noises while squirming as much as was possible when tightly swaddled in wet cloth.

In the past, I would have thought her to be cursing but now with her controlled emotions and near absolute devotion the muffled noises I heared would be more along the lines of 'what are you doing?' and 'where are you taking me?'.

Yet I was grateful for the sheet in more ways than one. Not only did it grant me the element of surprise but it also saved me the bother of using a light sedative while simultaneously acting as a gag.

Truly, simplicity was a useful tool.

After depositing Revis into the back of the van, I turned back to lock up the garage door before entering the vehicle itself and starting its engine.

Although we were wanted criminals, I wasn't worried about making public appearances due to Revis' long hair and my lack of glasses and a few other disguising features I donned for today's outing. In truth, the seemingly unimportant details mattered immensely.

When the human mind focuses on a face it normally secures a focal point upon the bridge of the nose before branching outward. Along with odd eye colour and disfiguring marks such as birthmarks, glasses or lack thereof was a decidedly useful tool for disguises.

Of course, with prolonged exposure to a particular face other features would be taken into greater account and the mask, so to speak, may fall but for a simple outing in a public, crowded location we were promised safety.

Much as I expected, Revis barely moved during the fifteen minute drive. So either she was near hyperventilating at the panicking sensation of being unable to move yet completely covered or she was lying still patiently waiting for me to explain my reasoning for so suddenly abducting her.

My lips curved into a pleased smirk as I pulled into the large parking lot, easily finding a space on the side of the large building before parking the van and turning off the engine.

As the van shuddered to a still silence I placed the keys within my pants while direly missing the convenience of a suit's many pockets. Once more, I glanced down at Revis to take in the scene a moment longer.

Sighing, I easily maneuvered from the driver's seat to the spacious back of the van. Unwilling to prolong the initial explanation anymore, I began unwinding the cloth.

Halfway through my endeavor Revis began to push at the restricting sheets attempting to free herself as well. After five more minutes of wrestling with wet, heavy fabric a very disoriented and vaguely agitated Revis was revealed.

Hair disheveled, cheeks flushed, eyes narrowed...Well, she seemed to be intact.

"Was there a purpose to kidnapping me?" she asked with only slight indignation while wiping lingering moisture from her cheek.

I suppose it was fortunate she wasn't wearing her glasses when I subdued her.

Smiling coldly I replied, "Kidnapping? I couldn't agree less," I leaned over her, effectively caging her against the van's metal interior, "You belong to me, Revis..." I let a finger trail down her cheek as my thumb gently lifted her chin, "I was merely transporting my property in the most efficient manner possible."

Despite of, or perhaps because of, my close proximity she demurely lowered her eyes and swallowed before replying, "If you had only asked, I would have complied."

Oh?

Shifting my hands grip, I harshly turned her face upward so as to force her shocked blue, gold eyes to stare into mine, "_Asking_ implies choice which we both know you don't possess. Similarly enough, you have no other option but to obey me. I have an outing of sorts planned for today and you will be accompanying me."

Her eyes relaxed yet her expression changed to that of a confused one...

Oh no, that simply wouldn't do.

I pressed my thumb harshly into the soft skin just under her chin, causing her face to crease with pain...

Hmm, much better.

"While you are with me you are expected to speak to no one unless I grant you permission. You are to walk beside me with no greater distance than that of two feet. No matter what happens, you are not allowed to leave or act without my permission," my eyes bore into hers, "Is that clear?"

She swallowed roughly while attempting to alleviate some of the painful pressure I used against her, "Y-Yes."

I smiled cruelly before removing myself from her entirely to crouch about a foot away, "Very good, Revis. You may survive this day."

I gestured to the passenger door as she too began moving to stand atop her knees. She paused before complying while I returned to my own seat. I quickly exited the van then walked around to ensure she didn't make a scene when she realized where she was.

Thankfully the sign, bearing title to our destination, was quite clear from the front of the building and not the side where we were parked. By my own planning, Revis cooperated despite her suspicious glances at the other rows of cars surrounding our destination.

It wasn't until we turned the corner of the building that her eyes widened and her steps immediately staggered backward only to be caught by my waiting arm. She stared in horror at the large building, teeming with life and misery...

I tightened my hand in a painful reminder of the rules she would be expected to uphold before speaking smugly, "Welcome to Walmart, Revis."

Silent by a mix of shock and terror (I even felt her tremors as she shook slightly), I calmly led Revis inside so as to not draw attention to ourselves. Yet upon entering the Garden Center of the store, a greeter sent us a halfhearted smile causing Revis to subtly flinch.

In truth, it was quite fortunate to live in the far outskirts of Gotham, so far from the city it hardly deserved to be called Gotham at all. Due to this fact it was both convenient and enjoyable to tortu**—**_test _Revis' social interactions outside of Arkham and the upper end of Gotham where she had no role to play but that of my faithful assistant. Not to mention, we were in need of replenishing both food and other necessities within the house seeing as my previous acts of pillaging the unoccupied neighborhood homes could no longer support us.

After passing the greenery and entering a second pair of automatic doors, the minor noise level intensified causing Revis to shrink into my side.

Smirking, I gazed down at Revis while leading her around the line in front of a cash register in favor of taking a detour through the aisles of gardening equipment, "Now, now _Nicole_, that is _hardly_ considered proper behavior in public."

Her head whipped around sharply as she immediately pulled herself away from my touch. She opened her mouth before pausing and closing it a look of realization crossing her face before she began to speak, "Well that's odd, _Jonathan,_ I believe following social protocol was not a part of your demands."

My eyebrow twitched in irritation at her casual use of my name. While she couldn't address me properly for fear of discovery, she seemed to take more enjoyment in a blatant display of disrespect than she should...

Of course, her panic at being dragged to a public place, _Walmart_ no less, probably overrode her normal inhibitions.

While I could argue the point by conventional methods, I found myself feeling bored of simple logic...I believe it was time to resort to _other_ tactics.

I sighed lightly then glanced at her pitifully, "Well if you would rather capture the attention of every person we pass by clinging to me like a small child, I see no problem with it. After all, it doesn't violate my conditions."

Her eyes widened as she shook her head quickly, "N-No...I...I'll just...I'll be fine."

Mmm...Such a timid, frightened voice.

I flashed her a 'charming' smirk yet I knew cold, scheming eyes gave away my true intentions, "Very well then, shall we go find a cart?"

She swallowed before nodding slightly and then following me so closely she was only one misstep from tangling our legs together. As we passed the brightly lit isles and colourfully displayed products, people seemed to pour out of the reinforced steel ceiling. After a bit of maneuvering around the crowd and a few turns later we came to the front entrances where rows of carts were sloppily stuck together.

Another greeter eyed us without bothering to speak let alone smile as we fished out an acceptable cart. While turning the cart around to reenter the store Revis placed her hand atop the handle of the cart to prevent me from walking off.

I cast her a bored glance, "We haven't all day, Nicole."

Her eyes seemed to grow darker as her expression softened with sadness before she came to her senses, "What was the point in entering from the side when the carts were waiting in the front entrance?"

I raised an eyebrow, "There isn't one," before pushing the cart along and thereby forcing Revis to hurriedly follow so as to not lose her balance.

I felt Revis' hesitance as we entered the flow of the crowd in order to drift to the grocery section of the super-market. Yet as we began the usually dull task of shopping I found her overall posture and expressions to be captivating.

While I kept careful watch of Revis while placing necessary items in the cart, she clung to the bar with a death grip, her knuckles white and shaking from the strain. Her face was losing the battle to remain calm but occasionally showing an expression of extreme discomfort bordering on pained confusion.

It was a shame there were no signs of panic...not yet anyway.

As we managed the push the cart halfway through the crowded isle of cereal and the like, I stopped the cart effectively caging Revis in between the cart, the wall of food, and myself. Her surprised gaze flickered to my face before she cowered slightly under my intense look.

Hmm...She could be quite charming at times.

I leaned forward, invading her personal space, and grabbed a box of cereal beside her head.

Ignoring her flinch, I spoke softly, already moving back, "Why don't you assist me in shopping instead of mindlessly following me around like a lovesick puppy?"

She inhaled sharply and cast her gaze down while gripping the cart's bar tightly.

Oh? Did that hurt? Good...I've been curious to see you unravel your pride before my eyes, spurred on by 'love'.

How much did you _truly _love me, Revis? How far would you go to please me?

Would you surpass your core values and entire belief system?

Yes, I knew the answer to that.

But would you attempt to suppress your lingering dredges of self-worth and allow me to push you past your breaking point?

She never lifted her eyes from the floor just as her grip never lessened, instead her shoulders tensed as she replied, "How may I be of assistance when you hadn't even thought to bring a list, _Jonathan_?"

...Apparently not.

Frowning slightly, I, too, held onto the cart's hand on either side of her so as to trap her in a mock embrace. She flinched upon feeling my body press into hers as I lowered my head to her ear, "I believe we're out of syrup. Why don't you go find some?"

Causally, I moved my arm allowing her to scamper off a few feet down the aisle. She gave me a quick glance then cringed at my hard expression. Turning her attention to the syrups, I saw the wheels of thought freeze at the overwhelming variety.

She turned her head slightly to each side as she read each label, trying desperately to remember if I had made in sort of indication which one I wanted—which of course I purposefully hadn't. It was too much fun to watch her squirm as she strained to remember whatever syrup we had before, let alone which brand.

Should she pick a more expensive brand for its quality or a cheaper one for the convenience? Would I be angered if she selected a syrup that wasn't up to par with my selective taste? Would I believe her to be a complete failure, unworthy of even the simplest tasks if she can back empty-handed and asking for help? How much longer could she stand there, uncertain before I grew impatient? Were the people's flickering glances becoming more pressing? Had the lights raised in intensity? Was the air growing stuffy and hot? Were all the labels and prices blurring? Would I attack her in public as punishment?

In truth, I hadn't had the need to buy syrup for years because I disliked the sticky, sweet substance but it was still amusing to see her struggle.

She took a step forward after waiting for a mom and two children to pass by.

Oh? Was she going to choose one despite her uncertainty?

I smirked softly as I patiently watched her move—

Without warning a man knocked into her from the side causing her eyes to widen as she turned around.

I tensed...would she attack him? Should I intervene or simply watch her discomfort and anxiety during social interaction?

Surely her thoughts would have only grown more panicked. Would I be angry if she spoke, even with the intent to apologize? How was she supposed to make a decision among the many syrups with having this man's attention upon her? Would—

"Watch yourself..." the man warned with a gruff expression.

Unable to see Revis' expression, I kept close watch to her defensive posture and the man's disdainful expression.

"Are you alright?" he asked while viewing her with uneasy suspicion as one would a loon which in all honesty was probably the most appropriate reaction.

Revis gave a jerky nod before backing away and accidentally backing into a small child, probably around the age of four. While she barely noticed the light impact, the solid _smack_ of the child's head against the floor and the piercing cry had her whipping around her eyes wide with horror. By reflex her hands reached out as if to help the child but as his wails grew louder, she faltered.

The mom hurriedly kneeled by her child before giving Revis a sharp look, "What happened?"

Revis' face was white with shock as she looked from the small boy to the mother, unable to speak despite her slightly opened mouth.

The mom hoisted her toddler up on her hip and bounced him there trying to soothe his loud cries that drew the attention of everyone on the isle.

Unwilling to let such a golden opportunity pass, I walked up to Revis with a concerned expression. I placed my arm around her shoulder and pulled her close while looking at the mom and then at Revis with a confused expression, "What happened here, Nicole? Is everything alright?"

Her breathing came in shallow, jerky intervals as her eyes dug into mine pleadingly.

Mmm...her blue, gold eyes were so enticing when splashed with fear and desperation. Yet I couldn't help but wonder if she was asking for my assistance to clear up the situation or for my permission which would allow her to speak? Oh well...if only she had been more direct with her silent inquiry, I may have been able to help.

The mother glared at Revis while continuing to rock the brat side to side on her hip, "Well? Aren't you going to apologize?"

I cocked my head and stared at her with a concerned face, "Nicole?"

She lowered her gaze and shrunk into my side, thoroughly wasting her time of appropriate pause before her silence was seen as rude.

The mother humphed, "The nerve of people today," casting Revis a look filled with disgust and contempt. She carried herself highly with her hollering child as she walked away.

The staring bystanders that had been halfheartedly shopping but moreso drawn in by the scene now stared at Revis intently with a mix of curious and judgmental expressions.

A young couple, probably highschool sweethearts, passed by as the young woman spoke to her boyfriend knowing full well Revis was able to hear, "What a terrible thing to do. I can't believe she just _stood_ there and didn't even try to help the poor tyke up!"

The man hushed his girlfriend and cast Revis a fleeting glance as if he were able to gauge the situation better after it had been diffused.

Whatever expression Revis wore I couldn't tell for her head was ducked low. Instead, I settled for squeezing her shoulder and whispering, "Now that you've caused such a scene we should move on."

I then led Revis to the cart where she allowed me to walk beside her with my arm reaching around her to hold onto the cart's handle and simultaneously keeping her trapped. The rest of the trip was made without incident as she clung to the cart like a lifeline while I gathered whatever groceries were needed then continued to walk with her stuck in between my arms and the cart.

It was a logical assumption to view Revis and I as a couple due to our close proximity and so as we caught a few lingering looks from passing people Revis tensed and her body temperature rose a few degrees with panic under their attention.

In all honesty, it was amusing and led me to other 'affectionate' advances such as gently trailing my hand along her back as I placed my hand back atop the cart's hand and occasionally atop her own hand. At times, I would press my body against hers when asking her opinion on a particular item.

It was quite curious how adversely she reacted to my actions. One would think with my affectionate mannerisms, she would become even more enraptured by 'love' and even try to return the favor by resting her head on my shoulder, leaning back into my chest, or some other rubbish but instead she only flinched and trembled.

Perhaps it was the lights, the bright colours, the people, the noise, or even my mocking expressions that distracted her from reacting in a positive manner. Or maybe...and this was a curious notion indeed, despite her many declarations of undying love she was adverse to physical displays of affection and found my advances to be both frightening and confusing.

Yet as our trip came to an end we made our way to the long row of check-out lines and entered a long line. At this point Revis' breathing was uneven and only a slightly different from that of hyperventilating by the lax manner in which she breathed. Despite not receiving enough air and thereby becoming disoriented she didn't fall into total panic but rather forced herself to not react past the occasional nod or shake of her head when I addressed her.

How dull...to think she would deny me the pleasure of seeing her _true_ anxiety. Tsk tsk, Revis.

My eyes scanned the area for something useful as we inched forward at a snail's pace and a rotating rack of books caught my attention causing me to smile darkly.

As Revis kept her gaze to the floor she had yet to see the book, making my idea so much more thrilling. I leaned forward and picked up a copy while barely drawing Revis'.

In a hushed tone I rested my head atop her shoulder and snaked my hands along her waist, savoring her severe flinch, in order to prop the book up on the cart's handle, "I seem to recall seeing this book on the news recently. It's such a terrible tragedy. Don't you think, Nicole?"

The face of _"Defying Death: My Tale of Survival"_ stared mocking up at Revis.

She tensed while her body temperature grew hotter with rage.

Rage?

Unable to turn around or run away, I had thought she would be forced to endure the matter. Yet I was wrong when she spoke with a dark, seething tone, "Not at all..."

She shouldn't have been able to summon such a deep emotion as hatred...then again, as she was unable to filter energy she should have been a sobbing mess on the floor the moment she stepped inside the store and was subject to the overwhelming stimuli.

I dug my chin into her tensed shoulder as I opened the book to a random page and began reading softly so my voice wouldn't carry, "_There was no escape..._

_After being coerced into illegal operations at the hospital, I was unable to get away after returning to that dark mortuary. I can't remember much except her face as she explained the workings of the crematorium._

_It was sick and twisted._

_She seemed to _enjoy_ the idea of burning bodies. If only I had known what was to await me! Yet there was no warning before I was forced into the crematorium. Now I was trapped in what I had believed to be my grave._

_I could hear my captor, the demented woman who found pleasure in my distress, as she called out to her boss luring him into the morgue as well._

_I couldn't believe it! She was trying to seduce the man!_

_First she tricked me into assisting her in her and now she wanted to fool him too! Unwilling to have someone else fall to the same fate as me, I called out to him, praying to God my voice would be heard._

_By His will the man heard me and immediately tried to assist me. While I was unable to see anything in that dark, grimy machine I could hear the slight scuffle as he valiantly fought to free both himself and me._

_If only he had been able to free us then!_

_But he was unable to fight against her for long as the rogue mortician subdued him. _

_Now I was alone..._

_No, not alone. I had simply to place my faith in God and trust that he would see me through this horrible night."_

I closed the book and stroked the cover, "Such an incredible story...Perhaps we should buy it?"

She exhaled angrily, her body shaking with barely suppressed rage before she roughly shrugged me off her shoulder and attempt to turn around. Yet as I tightly held her to the cart she was unable to face me entirely and so she settled for venomously glaring at me over her shoulder, **"**_**No."**_

This wasn't right...Her behavior didn't align with the effects of her medicine.

I raised an eyebrow, "On the contrary I believe I would quite enjoy reading this _enlightening_ story."

Her eyes glazed over with bloodlust as she struggled to keep a psychotic smile from appearing on her face. She turned around and bowed her head while breathing deeply in order to calm herself.

Oh...So you found it in your fickle heart to disobey me?

I maintained the silence for the entire duration of the trip, even on the ride home, so as to allow Revis both time to calm herself and let the implications of my silence sink in.

Tsk tsk Revis...


	48. Chapter 18: Macabre

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers for giving me your support and a great deal of happiness!**

**Next I'd like to say that in spite of being on a vacation (or perhaps because of it) I found myself eager to update early since all my free hours have been filled with enjoying horrifying video games-or rather watching the gameplay of horrifying video games on youtube...I'm not too experienced in gaming so I prefer to watch others. Due to the theme of my day and this chapter, I decided you all needed a taste of the macabre. My inspiration for this chapter was a mix of personal nightmares and Silent Hill (if only in atmosphere/tone). The quotes are from "The Bells" one of my favourite poems of Edgar Allan Poe.**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 18 Revis' POV<strong>

Despite the late hour, I found myself waiting as the coffee maker hissed and bubbled.

Something was different…

I could feel the air tense and shift yet upon turning around I saw nothing—or rather, no one.

Focus Revis…

Exhaling, I once more watched the coffee maker as it began filling the pot to the quantity of two—Was I waiting for Dr. Crane or simply very tired? I couldn't remember.

I sighed, holding a hand to my cold forehead.

That was only proof of my need to sleep. Ha! 'Need' but not want.

Focus Revis…

_**Click. Click. Click…Click. Click. Click…Click. Click. Click…Click**__—_

Wary I turned around once more.

What could be causing such a noise? We didn't—Beep!

I jumped, gasping loudly as the coffee maker's alarm tolled.

_How the danger ebbs and flows;_ _Yet the ear distinctly tells._

Since when had such a familiar, mundane sound startled me so?  
><em>In the jangling<em>

Shakily I poured myself a mug of coffee, unsure what to do with the rest in the pot.  
><em>And the wrangling,<em>

_**Click .Click. Click…Click. Click. Click…**_  
>I froze.<p>

_How the danger sinks and swells,_  
><em>By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells<em>_—_

A siren sounded in a tone so sudden, so brash, I hadn't realized its presence yet my body had already moved in a defensive position. The mug fell to the floor shattering into pieces as hot, scalding hot, coffee splashed everywhere.

Shock. Dismay. Fear. Uncertainty. Panic. Which to feel? What order should they appear? Which to act upon? Wh—

What was _that_?

A small dog, golden in colour and short in stature, walked upon the tiles of the kitchen.

_**Click. Click. Click…**_

Innocently, the dog began to lap at the puddle of steaming coffee.

What was a dog doing here? Dr. Crane kept his test subjects as pets; he would have no need for an actual one. Although, the mysteriously appearing dog unnerved me, I knew the kitchen was too hazardous for it to carelessly lick from the floor. After all, the shards of—

I stared in dismay as the dog unwaveringly worked at a piece of broken ceramic.

What was it doing?!

It seemed unconcerned with its own health as the sharpened pieces cut into its muzzle, lacerating its skin with a growing numbers of cuts.

Part of me longed to help the poor animal but another, more instinctual, side told me not to move. I watched, horrified, as the dog deepened its wounds.

I should help—

My eyes widened as I heard laughter..._a child's laugh_.

The dog peered up at me but its eyes seemed dull and empty. It shook its coat before craning its head up to yawn—A small hand, belonging to a toddler, peeked out from the dog's gaping mouth.

My stomach lurched as I gasped in disbelief. The cuts along its muzzle began to widen, and then tear open. A small tremor shook me as I heard the gagging sound as something—No, _someone_ began to crawl up from the dog's throat.

T-This wasn't possible...

Not only was the child unlikely to be alive but the dog had no means to swallow the child whole, especially with its small form—

As if to prove me wrong, the outer skin of the dog which had already been hanging off in shreds, now peeled back partially to present the half visible form of the child. A single mocking, blue eye sparkled with demented mirth as the dog's body contorted.

I briefly closed my eyes against the sickening sight but I only too well heard the harsh snapping of its body.

Repulsed, I opened my eyes before regretting the action. Tears threatened as I viewed the half dog, half child abomination. I breathlessly sobbed before backing up into the counter as the malformed creature, blurring the lines between beast and man, took a lurching step toward me.

Hot panic tore at my skin painfully as I struggled to control my breathing from the horrifying sight.

N-No, this couldn't be real!

My legs crumpled causing me to fall to the floor. On my hands and knees I let out a long, shaking whine as I sobbed, shaking my head back and forth.

This wasn't real, this terrifying _thing_ wasn't real!

I closed my eyes again but was unable to block out the sight in my head or the mocking whine from the beast. I felt its hot breath panting against my skin as I let out a small shriek, pushing myself further into the counter.

No! Stop it! Stop it! Stop—

I screamed, before my breath hitched as I felt the sickening touch of its teeth—

I gasped awake on my bed before the rush of tears and painful tremors overtook me. The darkness maliciously played with my mind as the curling shadows seemed to flex and shift on their own. I curled tightly into a ball, gasping with panic then letting out a pitiful cry as my sudden movement caused the bed to creak. Every nerve within my body was painfully alight with terror.

I hadn't dreamt of such horrors in years. Yet the thought of such malformed blends between human and animal instilled such a horrible fear into me. Hollywood's portrayal of werewolves and the like were laughable at best, it was the true twisted blend of features, the texture of skin, scales, and fur, its strangled noises—I whimpered again, as tears flowed from my face.

Despite my weeping terror or more sensibly, _because_ of it, I hoped I hadn't drawn Dr. Crane from his room. Although, he entrusted me with the privacy of the guest bedroom, the entire house was a trap. From the noise of the bed as it creaked, the floorboards as they groaned, and even my own body as it popped from misuse, he was able to know where I was at all times.

Don't find me..._someone hold me._

I want to be alone..._I'm terrified to be alone._

I'll fall asleep soon..._I'd only relive the horrors if I closed my eyes._

Morning will be here before long..._These shadows will devour me before long._

I'll be fine..._I'm petrified by fear._

…

"Coffee again, Revis? By those shadows under your eyes, I believe coffee is the last thing you need."

Without allowing me a chance to argue he placed his hand over mine before I could open the bag of ground coffee beans...such lovely, _vital_ coffee beans.

He brushed aside my hair to better reveal my throat; I shook fearfully at his advances.

Why was he touching me? How could he bear to even look at me?

His lips brushed against my pale skin, causing me to shiver. I felt his hand, as soft as a spider's touch, trail up my arm only to fall down to my side. He tightened his grip on my hip causing me to flinch and jerk away.

I swallowed uneasily as he fixed me with his cold eyes and sly smile, "Are you alright, Revis? Is your medicine giving you any trouble sleeping?"

I shook my head quickly, wanting to move away from the counter as quickly as possible.

I felt caged...not to mention this was the very place of horror in my nightmare—

So caught up in my racing and irrational train of thought I didn't notice him move until he lifted my chin. I stared into his eyes as my own began to fill with tears.

Smoothly he asked, "Is there anything you'd like to tell me, Revis?"

I spoke in a tiny, breathless voice, "No."

He tilted his head in as if amused by my answer before leaning toward me—Upon feeling his hot breath on my face, I sharply turned my head to the side while cowering.

"Do you love me?"

My eyes widened as I slowly turned back to look at him clearly. He seemed serious, painfully so, and I found myself unable to look away from that pressing gaze. How could he question my love? Would I have stayed, allowing him to torture me daily, if I didn't love him?

"Yes."

He pressed me into the counter before cradling the back of my head. I met my gaze for a moment as he smiled cruelly, "Good...then you shouldn't fight me."

He attempted to kiss me once more but I pushed against his chest as I struggled, "Stop!" I tried to gain some room but he refused to move, "Don't lie to me..." I closed my eyes, grasping his sweatervest in my hands tightly, "I know you feel nothing for me, so please don't do this..."

He chuckled softly before roughly pulling my hair. I gasped in pain, the shock causing me to release his sweatervest as his merciless, blue eyes bored into mine, "I own you; therefore, I am able to _use_," he twisted his hand harshly causing me exhale sharply, "you however I please."

Instead of kissing me as I had thought he would, he yanked my hair back and swiftly lowered his head to my ear whispering chillingly, "Now if only I could have you writhing in fear..."

I whimpered upon feeling his teeth pull on my earlobe teasingly before he pulled away and began to walk out the room while leaving me panting from fear and despite my earlier protests: lust.

I lowered my gaze and focused on breathing—

"Oh and Revis?" my head shot up as I realized he hadn't left the room yet.

He smiled mockingly before continuing, "Do try to get some sleep."

…

_**Crying**_...Who was crying?

_**Darkness**_...Where was the light?

**"Open your eyes."**

My eyes shot open as the dark walls came into view...

Wallpaper peeled down in faded strips—_wallpaper?_ The decrypt room filled with meager light from the moth eaten curtains. Ignoring the shudder of distaste I felt upon noticing I was lying on the dusty floor, I stood cautiously.

_**Crying**_...Where was it coming from?

**"Turn around."**

I turned, blinking with disorientation as the room shifted...

The darkness had a near palpable feeling—What was hidden in its depths?

I walked forward, unnerved as my eyes seemed to flutter causing my vision to flash between black and the blurring opaque of my surroundings.

Damn...that horrible screeching sound...Why wouldn't that shrill cry stop? It sounded— As if to validate my speculation a baby's cradle soon came into view.

_**Crying**_...Why was the baby crying?

**"Look at him."**

I didn't know much of children...

In fact, I despised children. I felt no desire to have any of my own, especially with knowledge of both my misery and all of humanity's faults.

Why would I bother birthing a new life when it would only contort in agony and suffer for all of its mortal days? Besides, I could hardly control my emotions around myself and Dr. Crane, how would I react with a child who would one day despise me? Would I lose my temper and harm my own flesh and blood? No...I could never be a mother.

Even so I walked up to the shaking craddle and peered inside—

I jerked back, revolted by the sight of such a small human so...so _mangled_.

Poor child...

While I felt no warmth for the living, my heart ached at this baby's plight...Not yet dead and yet so alone.

I reached forward, hoping to help the child even if it were only possible to silence the young life forever. Yet before I could touch it's poor broken form, its screaming intensified.

I faltered...

What use was I to this child? I couldn't protect it. If I touched it, such a fragile scrap of life, I may kill it. I only caused the living pain...Humanity deserved it but this child, this pained creature, it had no chance of innocence. Now it was just another sullied piece of flesh.

**"Kill him."**

My fingers twitched...

Had I no other choice? The child would only suffer—as he worsened my suffering. He wouldn't live—because I had no use for another contaminated human. Death would be gentle—the silence would be soothing.

_**Crying**_...Why wouldn't he shut up?!

I held my head in my hands, wishing the piercing noise to stop.

_I can't help you! Leave me alone!_

_**Crying**_...The noise grew in multitude.

**"Kill them all..."**

I shook with a suppressed mix of anger and shame. Tearing my gaze from the black cradle, I then froze as small clumps lined the room. The light lazily revealed each lump to be a _part_ of a screaming child. Some were maimed, others were severely burned, but all were broken. They cried a cacophony of misery.

So many helpless children—_What was I supposed to do?_

Each drowning in agony—_How was I to save them?_

Tearful eyes screaming for salvation—_STOP IT!_

I fell to my knees, shaking my head back and forth.

_I can't __FIX YOU__!_

They cried on, hoarse cries that chilled me to the bone.

_I will only __hurt__ you! I can't __help__ anyone!_

The smell of burned flesh.

_I can't __save__ you!_

The sight of gaping legions on cherubic faces.

_I can't __SAVE__ anyone!_

The tiny fists balled into anger at my uselessness.

_I can't __SAVE__MYSELF__!_

I grabbed my hair in anger as I screamed along with their—

My eyes opened as I lay in my bed in a sort of shocked silence. My head replaying their echoing cries—

I rushed from my bed, uncaring of the loud creaking sound or the floorboard's groaning as I raced to the bathroom, bile climbing up my throat. Opening the door, not even bothering to turn on the light or attempt to muffle the door's harsh impact against the wall, I wrenched open the toilet's lid and heaved up mouthfuls of acidic fluid.

Panting in between heaving I whined in a broken, shaking tone.

My stomach lurched, angry as it had nothing left to throw up for there was only stomach acid to being with. The rancid smell of my own bile repulsed me, causing me to cough painfully as I flushed the toilet and fumbled for the roll of toilet paper. Upon wiping my mouth and throwing away the used tissue, I staggered up the sink. I refused to look into the mirror and instead focused on brushing away the rotten taste in my mouth with that of soothing mint.

After I could no longer taste the bile on my tongue, I shakily lowered myself to the cracked tiled floor knowing I didn't need to look in the darkened mirror to see that my panicked, bloodshot eyes wouldn't close themselves in sleep anytime soon.


	49. Chapter 19: Terricula

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank you amazing readers and reviewers for giving me suppport and your honest opinion, it truly means a lot to me!**

**Now for this chapter I have a funny piece of information. Scarecrows have been around for a long time (since the Ancient Egyptian times) and as Revis briefly mentioned, the mythological origin is quite different than what we would expect. Upon researching the Greek/Roman origins of a scarecrow I found this: _"__Priapus is a god of fertility, protector of horticulture and viticulture. His statue, holding a wooden sickle in his hand, was used in the Roman gardens as scarecrow, and his enormous penis as a threat against thieves."_ **

**While quite shocking and humorous I thought it would be a bit out of place (and inappropiate in the situation) to have Revis explain that so her quirky smile is due to this reference. Oh and Revis' breaking down of the word '_terricula_' is of my own thought process, I hadn't asked my Latin teacher about the roots of the word so I may be (as Revis would after a few years away from her apartment and Latin books) wrong.**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!"**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 19 Dr. Crane's POV<strong>

The sound of plastic snapping broke the tense silence as I finished securing my latex gloves.

Honestly, did they expect their pleading gazes to sway my resolve each time I entered the storm cellar? It seemed that only _after_ I had finished putting on my gloves that they resigned themselves to baser callings. Nevermind that, I would have to make quick work of my time if I were to keep the schedule.

Calmly, I crossed the room, approaching my test subject as she stared at the ground with unseeing eyes.

"You sick fuck..."

I paused to glance at the other test subject a few cages to the right.

I admit my test subjects were a bit...lacking. Despite my greatest efforts to ensure their longevity, each one seemed to drop dead within a few days of intense study. Now I was left with only two little mice to play with.

This particular mouse had grown more resilient, inspiring a small spark of worth in his quickly dimming life. Perhaps I had misjudged Revis' potential if this man was also capable of retaining most of his mentality with the assistance of anger.

"Don't touch her!" his voice cracked as his normally steely eyes darkened, no _contorted_ with pain, "She's just a child..."

Oh? Did he think he was able to sway the direction of my research by _pleading_ with me?

Coldly, I grasped the bar of the young girl's cage while staring directly into his eyes, "Why should I compromise my study on the basis of _biased_ opinions?"

He slammed his hands against the metal floor of his cage as he yelled, "They're not opinions! It's _Morals_!" he spat on the floor before continuing his fuming at a lower volume, "Any _normal_ human would know that...Unlike _you,_ an unethical son of a bitch!"

"Scarecrow..." a monotonous voice called out.

The man stared disbelievingly at Revis who had been sitting on the stairs of the storm cellar, "What?"

Revis flashed her dead gaze, amplified by the dark bruising under each eye, to his anguished one, "You are to address him as Scarecrow."

The man scrunched up his face in a mix of revulsion and anger, "What the fuck?! You have _no_ right to speak to me, you filthy slut! Don't think I don't know why he keeps you around. You're just a cheap lay," he sneered at me, ignorant of Revis' frigid posture, "Tell me '_Scarecrow_', how's it feel to know the only _bitch_ who would even consider fucking you is bat shit crazy?"

I clicked my tongue, "Your negotiation skills leave something to be desired."

I released the bars of the young girl's cage.

She didn't react to anything anymore, not even good fortune it would seem. She wouldn't be worth my time.

"However," I clasped my hands behind my back, "I find myself partial to a slight alteration in the schedule."

The man's hollowed face tightened as he sucked in an angry breath through his nose, causing his cheeks to sink in further. Yet I surprised him by walking toward Revis.

"Revis," she flinched upon hearing my voice as her once dead gaze began to dance across the floor in poorly disguised panic, "Would you care to educate _our_ _patient_ further?"

She tentatively met my gaze, her eyes silently asking if she had heard my hidden words correctly.

I gave her a cold smirk, delighted at her quickly adverted eyes and jittery behavior. It seemed that only week and half of intense nightmares, the aftereffect of which being insomnia, had left her barely able to function.

In a vain attempt to cope, she began staring off into the distance in a trance like state in hopes to gain some rest; however, either lingering hallucinations caused from lack of sleep or other mundane events, she was dragged back to reality.

Apathetically, she rose from her seat and walked toward the agitated man as he stood in his cage, his legs shaking with the strain of toxins running through his system. Then again, his refusal to eat any food, for fear of it being poisoned, helped.

I followed behind Revis taking note in her tense shoulders and the slight spasms of her fingers as though she was desperately fighting off impulsive behavior.

Oh how uncaring she seemed...but I knew the truth behind her façade.

As I first began to poison her in retaliation for her disobedience, I noticed a few odd behavioral quirks.

Upon admitting the toxin by either serum or gas, there seemed to be no signs of fear. At first, I was outraged: even in sleep she dared to defy me? Yet as I watched her sleep, I noticed something very odd...

She didn't move at all.

Her breathing was slow and shallow, her face expressionless, and her body motionless. This was a difference from her usual manner of sleeping which entitled restlessly shifting. If anything, the creaking of the bed's springs as she adjusted herself each night were more annoying than alerting.

Yet upon finding her still in slumber, I wondered what exact effect my toxin created. It wasn't until she awoke a few hours later, bolting upright and gasping for air that had been all too readily available mere moments before that I realized she was indeed affected. In fact, upon watching her discretely from a darkened corner of her room, I saw the true effects of my toxin, effects that should have been present from the beginning.

Trembling in fear, fighting for each breath, sweating in panic, clawing the sheets in a tight grasp, softly sobbing, even quietly whining in a miserable, high pitched tone...all reactions were captivating and I found myself only too eager to continue.

As the week drew on, I rarely watched her in favor of listening to her reactions in the too quiet house. There was no noise as she lay trapped within her body, entirely paralyzed, yet I knew the exact moment she awoke for then all sorts of noises came spilling forth.

Quite similar to her all too still manner of sleeping, her neutral expression and calm actions as she approached the unruly test subject, masked unbridled terror and pure panic.

How much longer will you be able to hold your own, Revis? When will you succumb to me entirely? If you shower me with apologies, grovel at my feet, beg for the very air you breathe _then_ I might be inclined to show you mercy.

Don't be fooled by my passive behavior...I'm only waiting until you break in a flurry of emotions far too _unstable_ for you to handle. You stand no chance against me, foolish, foolish Revis...

She stopped a foot from the cage as she titled her head, a sure sign of demented behavior, "The meaning of 'scarecrow' is lost English. A far more classical term would be '_Terricula'._"

"Shut up! This isn't some fucking game! You can't just stand by and watch as he tortures us!"

Her eyebrow twitched with annoyance at the mention of torture.

Despite her slight slip up, she walked calmly to the table paying me no mind as I scrutinized her every movement. Once there, she opened a small metal box I had purposefully set aside for her embalming needs. From the box she withdrew a scalpel. Without turning around to face the man, she continued, "The root of the word is divided within two parts."

She returned to the man's cage and without hesitating she lifted to scalpel to her barely visible wrist.

I narrowed my eyes.

What sort of gimmick did she hope to achieve? I knew only inches away from the sliver of visible skin beneath that long sleeved shirt were a great number of scars, varying in both width and shade.

Unaffected by the man's sudden intake of breath, she continued to speak while unwaveringly sliding the scalpel against her blue veins, "The first part suggests it belongs to the word '_terra_', more commonly known as earth."

Her voice didn't waver as the blood rushed the surface and began to slide around her wrist like some macabre bracelet.

That idiot!

She knew very well such a lethal tool as a scalpel would all too easily cut through her veins and even the tendons below that!

My shock paled in the vivid reaction the test subject as he reacted with pure instinct, reaching out to her bleeding wrist in an attempt to save her.

Hmph, as if she was even _worth_ saving at this point.

However, faster than I had thought her capable of in her current condition, Revis tightly grasped his wrist in her hand, uncaring as her blood trailed along his skin.

"The fuck?!" he screeched as he tried to rip his hand away.

Calmly, Revis stepped back, awkwardly forcing his arm to extend while uncomfortably pressing his face against the bars despite his other hand's struggle for leverage against the metal. She turned his wrist around as if studying his hand while continuing to speak as her blood dripped onto the floor with a steady beat, "However, another word, '_terreo_', meaning 'terrorize', may also be appropriate."

Turning his wrist so his shaking hand was facing her, palm up, she then made a quick yet deep (if his yell was anything to judge by) incision on the tip of his thumb.

How shallow was her wound if she was able to restrain his wildly thrashing arm?

Her expert skill with a scalpel would allow her to control the exact degree of her injury but memory of those maggots from so long ago should have prevented her from even scratching at her skin let alone _slicing_ it open.

Undisturbed by his reaction and string of curses, she continued, "Now comes the second part."

With the ease and focus of a painter, she made shallow, scattered lacerations of varying depth, measured by the following swell of blood, along the tip of his index finger.

The man yelled out more profanities yet Revis had already moved on to his next finger in which she cruelly dragged the scalpel in one deep stroke against his skin.

"The most logical choice would be '_culta' _or '_cultura_' for their reference to agriculture—" she now focused on artfully cutting into his ring finger with tilted angles causing almost petal like portions of his skin to stretch the wound open further as she teased each sliver of flesh she partially skinned, "—however, the difference of bases raises a troubling dilemma."

The man both red in the face and painfully sobbing, pleaded for mercy in between halfhearted insults.

Uncaring to his actions, Revis returned to her lesson, "On a more humorous note, perhaps '_cultus_', meaning civilized or elegant, would suffice due to the irony of a scarecrow's rural appearance and _Scarecrow's_ refined manner in which he carries out all his endeavors."

She finished slicing open his pinky with ease before lifting her haunted eyes to his sweating, flushed, and obviously pained face.

She sneered at his slobbering appearance: spittle at his mouth with tears and mucus smeared across his face, "And _that_ is the meaning behind scarecrow. Despite the historical or rather _mythological_ origin of the scarecrow, its purpose remains the same," she leaned in close as her voice lowered, "to cast out _pestering_ scavengers that threaten his growing empire."

She smiled sweetly before releasing him. She then turned back to me, calm despite the blood on her wrist as it stained her clothing and hand as well.

Taking the incentive, I walked toward her in order to retrieve the dangerous scalpel from her impulsive hands, "Allow me to find something to clean you up with before you attend to _your_ patient."

I had managed to attain the bloodied scalpel, yet as I led her to the table she shook her head, "He's not marked for death—Not yet anway."

I glanced back at his cage and sure enough he was quietly sobbing in between harsh breaths as he curled into himself on the floor.

Questioningly, I looked at Revis, "You're not going kill him?"

She kept her eyes to the ground as I placed the scalpel in a container already prepared for the disinfecting of her equipment.

She shook her head in a delayed response, "He hadn't offended or desecrated Death or its charges. I merely taught him a lesson at your request."

I blinked in surprise.

While it was true I had allowed her to act on my wishes, I could hardly believe she was willing to torture the man without slaughtering him afterward. Did she only kill those she deemed blasphemous toward 'Death' and then further justify her crimes by claiming all of humanity deserved to die?

If that were true than I should feel immense pride. By my ingenious manipulations, I altered her beliefs to such a degree that _my_ mere word could dictate her actions! Why, all my efforts were finally fulfilling my expectations. Not only did her sickening 'love' for me keep her tethered to my side and docile despite my abuses, but now I held the power to control her _thoroughly_ in every regard.

Now Revis, let us test this new found power...

I gave a small hum of thought before speaking, "Well, as to not waste this wonderful evening, perhaps you would find your work better suiting toward _her_?" I led Revis to the little girl's cage, enjoying Revis' flinch as I kept my hand on her lower back, "After all, she sat by idly, _lazily_ almost, after desecrating her brother's body. Surely you remember him?"

Revis' breath caught as she shook her head, "She's too young—"

I shifted my hand to wrap around her waist in order to pull her closer as I whispered in her ear, "_Death discriminates against no one..._"

I pulled away entirely before smirking, "Then again, double standards always suited your whims—Oh, I believe you thought those were morals?"

Her head whipped to the side as she stared at me in a mix of despair, such _delightful_ despair, and indignation, "She has no fault, you cannot frame her for the negligence _you_ are guilty of."

I raised an eyebrow, "_Negligence_? I believe it was _you_ who abandoned those in need of saving. Where were you when he died? Sulking in a dark corner? Crying over your broken heart?" I clicked my tongue, "That seems direly unprofessional of you, Revis."

She lowered her gaze to the ground, her shaking hands were now balled into fists, "I am not responsible for those dying. I cannot be burdened by every death I failed to record and treat due to other factors—"

"Factors such as your love for me?" I interrupted, enjoying her as she swallowed roughly before looking up mistrustfully, "You _failed_ to kill me after I used the symbol of your precious 'Death' for my work—_Even, _after I gave you the chance. You _failed_ to punish me once more as I left their bodies to rot knowing exactly the effect my actions would create. You _failed_ to defend Death's honour and work by allowing me to do whatever I wish, all in the _petty _name of 'love'."

Weakly she struggled to rationalize her behavior, "I'm only an extension of Death, I cannot be persecuted for _mortal_ faults."

I tilted my head as I spoke mockingly, "Oh? So then, are you not worthy of punishment yourself? Or is that also another double standard of your twisted logic—If it can even be called such."

She didn't raise her head to challenge me further but instead stared at the ground panting.

Oh how precious...Is your world crumbling, Revis? Are you losing your very foundation?

Good...after all, by your own flawed reasoning, you _deserve_ it.

I neared her once more, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. I was slightly disappointed as she didn't so much as cringe, but I continued regardless resting my head atop hers in a mockery of affection, "Despite all you may believe, you're a part of humanity. You, yourself, make up that which you detest. However can you live with yourself knowing each day you spew your own filth into the cesspool of mankind?"

I stroked her arm idly, "I suppose your idolization keeps you by my side and distracts you from your own _human _faults despite your obsession's _mortal_ nature."

I tightened my grip on her shoulder, "But then how are you able to allow such distasteful, detrimental vermin to live? You know best of humanity's faults, its lies and contamination...So then, why not strike down every growing parasite?"

I sighed and lifted my head from hers as I let my arm wrap around her waist once more, "It's one sin to live and give into your baser instincts...but it's another to stand by idly while others commit a far _greater_ sin."

I trailed my fingers along her hip, "Kill her, Revis...She's useless and toxic"

She opened her mouth to speak but I turned her toward me and placed a finger to her lips to pacify her as my other arm tightened its grip around her, "We are the executioners of humanity...First we lay bare their faults, force them to bear witness to their sins, then we serve justice. You see Revis, all of humanity deserves to suffer and die. We only assist our respective masters: _Fear _and _Death_."

She gazed into my eyes with disbelief and pain then shook away my touch, "You're full of shit."

I quickly grabbed onto her arm, unwilling to lose my chance, "Revis—"

**Smack.**

My head turned sharply to the side as the force behind her blow smarted.

She _backhanded _me?

I turned by head back to face her with a seething glare as I felt the still wet blood from her wound trail down my burning cheek.

"You're nothing more than a manipulative—" her breathing caught as she struggled to keep tears at bay.

Foolish, foolish Revis.

"Oh, and what of your deceptive behavior?"

She gasped in complete surprise for now her eyes held the appropriate _fear_.

"Did you believe I wouldn't notice? I fail to see why I bother with incompetent test subjects when I have an otherwise _worthless_ 'assistant' wearing away at my patience and hospitality."

Instead of falling to pieces as I had expected she began to laugh.

The sound was broken and hoarse but it only grew in volume and intensity until she hugged herself in an attempt to stabilize her unsteady balance.

Sobering slightly, she fixed me with a vicious smile, one I had not seen upon her face in _years_. In fact, the last time I saw such an expression had been within Arkham as she attempted to 'experiment' on me with janitorial supplies.

"Didn't it ever occur to you, _Doctor_, that it's not your test subjects that are _incompetent_ but _your_ 'toxins'?"

I inhaled sharply as rage filled my veins in an icy rush.

I narrowed my eyes loathingly, "You know nothing of the complexities of my formulas, the extensive research and extreme caution used in producing—"

Smiling maliciously she cut me off, "—worthless results?"

"Perhaps you'd care to test that theory? Seeing as you've _lied_ about taking your medicine, there shouldn't be any adverse medical effects."

Her cruel smile never left her face even as her eyes burned with wisps of fear and mirth, "Do you believe a minute or two of forced panic would alleviate the strain of _your_ failure?"

I exhaled angrily, "_My_ failure? I believe my toxin's work exceptionally well...Tell me _Revis_, did you know you make the sweetest cries as you lie curled up, shaking from terror, breathless from a nightmare?"

Her eyes widened painfully as she took a few steps back before hitting the bars of an empty cage, too stunned to speak.

I advanced toward her, exploiting the rising dread that danced in her eyes like glowing embers, "In what manner did I error, Revis? I kept avid watch over you as you suffered..." I stopped as there were only inches between us, "I kept perfect record of every muffled scream," I leaned in closer, "every terrified sob," I placed my hands on either side of her head, wrapping them securely around the metal bars, "So please, do enlighten me..."

She trembled, unable to speak due to overwhelming fear.

Smiling coldly I continued, "Speechless? Well no matter, I'm sure after a few hours trapped in a reality of delirium and chaos you'll find the correct words of humility and apologetic sincerity."

Despite her inhibiting emotions she defiantly spoke, "You're the foolish one if you think I'd ever apologize. The very fact that after continuous torture, manipulation, and fucked up mind-games I am _still_ able to unnerve you, to hold victory over you...Why, that speaks volumes."

I raised my eyebrows as I backed away, allowing her room to breathe, "If you believe yourself to be so resilient, so _worthy_, then you should have no trouble proving it."

I turned my back to her in order to walk to the table, in search of a small bottle of serum. Silently and efficiently separating two equal doses into two syringes, I then turned to Revis.

"After you administrate the lethal toxin to both of them and make do with their bodies, I expect to see you in the lab."

Uneasily, she walked up to me, doubt twisting in her blue gold eyes, allowing me to see the sharp stabs of pain she felt. Only when she was a foot away from me did she reach out and carefully take the two syringes. Without waiting for her response, I turned and began walking to the exit of the storm cellar—

"Why?"

I paused, looking over my shoulder as I smirked, "I believe it's time you began to extensively study chemistry."


	50. Chapter 20: The Dance

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers for giving continous support to my story. I hope the future chapters will continue to please you as well. **

**I'd like to announce a new update day on Sunday/Monday. I know I've been sketchy with picking a single day but I'm going to try to pick Sunday/Monday for my updates seeing as they're perhaps the lowest points of my week work wise.**

**Now this chapter is one of the more heavily referenced chapters to my short story "Jonathan Crane: The Origin of the Scarecrow" if you haven't read this already then please do so, this relies on a previous knowledge of Madeline but may be read without it (only if you want to be confused half the time that is). **

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 20 Revis POV<strong>

_"Her face was burned in my memory..._

_Each day I lived, recovering from the greatest trial I have ever faced, I clearly saw her face. It wasn't a haunting memory for not one moment did I fear her...I only feared _for_ her blackened soul._

_Yet I forced myself to remember her face, to commit each minute detail to memory, so that I would never forget the person who deserved punishment. In time, I knew I would grow stronger and spread word of her evil...Then I could rest at ease, knowing that every day she would see _my_ face, triumphant and blessed by God's will."_

I gritted my teeth as I tried to contain my rage...He knew very well of my seething hatred toward that _lying__,__blasphemous__**TRAMP!**_Yet he found joy in taunting me each chance he was able. Damn that book...**Damn **_**HER!**_ How **dare** she slander Death's name then have the gall to hide behind the _false_light of martyrdom...

Yet due to my position as Dr. Crane's assistant, I was unable to strike back at her. So she continued to prance about in her attention whoring ways, remaining unchallenged...for now.

Unfortunately, instead of plotting her fall from fame and life I was forced to focus on the odd combination of letters, numbers, and dashes. While I never enjoyed math, chemistry had been bearable within both highschool and later in college. Of course, while studying in the art of embalming I was far more motivated to work tirelessly. Yet now, my only 'motivation' was the digging glare of _his_ eyes as he waited for the slightest hesitation or mistake on my part while goading me in seemingly regular intervals with the _**vile**_ words of that tramp.

Ha! As if balancing complex equations didn't require enough concentration, I found myself at a battle with myself to simply breathe let alone think over the mathematical relationship between the quantity of reactants and products.

Truthfully, the work was quite simple...A fact that only worsened my mind's harsh berating.

If I failed at such simple work, I was truly worthless...It wasn't a matter of committing a simple mistake but a matter of my all too easily decaying value in _his_ eyes. I knew as we progressed through the many levels of chemistry the shadow of failure, as if it weren't oppressive enough, would only darken.

I placed my pencil down on the table before raising my eyes to meet his. My heart pounded with a nervous rush of uncertainty and fear. As if his perfectionist attitude wasn't already annoying, the impeccable logic he used to construct both insults and 'approval' was far more bothering.

Even upon finishing flawless work (quite a feat, considering my anxiety and lack of mathematical finesse) his harsh gaze tore down the minuscule spec of self-confidence I felt with my achievements—Although, they weren't achievements to him. Rather, upon completing each task he grudgingly gave me a nod of approval before he spoke calmly, lashing me with degrading insults.

His icy gaze avoided my work entirely in favor of stealing my breath as the anticipation of his harsh 'approval', "If you're finished fooling around with meager equations, you may begin studying the molecular structures of the following compounds. I expect you to be able to explain the reactions of each compound within the average—"

I exhaled in disbelief, "How can you 'expect' me to complete such extensive tasks when I haven't attended medical school or any other form of study within—"

He sneered down at me, "Of course, how inconsiderate of myself to assume your meager associates degree and short internship would amount to anything applicable in the _true_ arts of science."

I felt a sharp stab of pain but retaliated with as much bite as I was capable of, "Forgive me, _Doctor_, for not realizing I would be making up for your incompetence within your _specialized_ area of study."  
>He sneered down at me, "Well then, I suppose you would rather act as my test subject, at least then your weakness would be an asset."<p>

I huffed angrily, "Why is it that you've come to depend on me so much? Have you lost confidence in yourself? You seem only to degrade me, telling me how much of a failure I am and how weak I am in comparison to yourself...and yet you continue to depend on me to either reassure you or assist you. For someone who means nothing to you, I sure have a great impact on your decisions."

The book fell to the floor.

My eyes widened as I tried to suppress a shiver, unwilling to back down from this confrontation.

His eyes seemed to burn with a cold fury, something which should not have been an uncommon sight but still shook me deep inside. His steps were calculated and swift causing me to tense in apprehension as he roughly grabbed my arm and hissed, "I depend on no one, least of all _you_."

I opened my mouth to retort but he only tightened his grip and continued, "Did you forget the only reason you're still alive is because it would be too bothersome to kill you, especially since your _pathetic _'love' keeps you by my side with unwavering loyalty."

Suddenly, I was overcome by a violent sickness at the painful cycle we seemed trapped in.

Was it always this obvious? The suffocating feeling of our fighting, the continuous pain...I didn't want to dance anymore to the sound of my heart breaking in time with his biting words.

So overcome by a need to break free of the constant battle between us, I lowered my eyes demurely, "Did you ever consider what would happen if...one day I realized there is no point in loving you?"

His other hand rose causing me to flinch and turn my head but instead of striking me, he only loosened his grip while his raised hand cupped my cheek. Despite the situation I found myself leaning into his touch, eager to feel more of that warmth...

"But that won't happen...will it, Revis?"

I looked up into his eyes, noting the cold shade that contrasted so sharply with the soothing warmth of his hand.

Here he was...the monster I loved. Surely, it would be best to move on, to end this endless dance—But what else was there?

In truth I had nothing...Without him I would be without work, without a home, without my love...

While I was the personification of Death, I was also setback by mortal faults. I could not survive on my own; my previous life was testimony to that. I lived a life trapped by fear; hating everything with such an ugly fury. Then my pseudo-life as I lived in the Victorian house was equally displeasing, I was paranoid of Dr. Crane's return, loathing all of humanity, and barely scraping by with enough food to last me. Hell, I wouldn't have lasted another winter in those conditions.

But was this much better?

Knowing I was only useful when experimented on, having my love twisted daily, living with the truth that he only saw me with contempt, continuing this painful cycle we seemed caught in...

Was there no way to ease our suffering? Would we always war against each other? I was tired of defending my love as he degraded me. I was tired of his sharp insults and my rebellious retaliations. It all seemed so juvenile and meaningless.

He gave me a cold smile as his thumb gently stroked the skin beneath my eye, "I can see it in your eyes, you long to leave but you know you're unable to live without me...Face it, Revis, you'll always need me...and I am the only one who can fulfill those needs."

I closed my eyes tightly and lowered my head, falling further into the warmth of his hand, "I-I know...I love you, Dr. Crane"

Without warning, I stepped closer to him in order to tightly embrace him taking my step in our maddening dance.

Due to my action, his hand was forced to weave into my hair but instead of sharply pulling it or pushing me away; he pressed my head to his chest.

Here in his arms...surrounded by his enticing scent and warmth, I felt at home.

How wrong was our dance if I was able to steal moments of peace? Surely the pain was worth this...

Suddenly, his energy sharply twisted with shock but all too soon it hardened with the icy touch of logic. I felt tears rise but refused to allow that particular weakness to show...

How could he continue his cold rationality in a moment such as this?

Now, I knew the pain was not worth this moment...If anything, the feeling of his energy worsened my revulsion; I was sick of these preplanned steps, each movement promising a familiar pain with no end in sight...

Burrowing deeper into his arms, I tightened my grip on his sweatervest before pulling away to gaze deeply into his face. His eyes were cold...as always, but it wasn't just the frigid colour but the hardened, almost frozen appearance of his face.

He was trapped by the walls of this mind, unwilling to allow any emotion through. We both suffered from our minds, yet he was in control of his vice whereas I was too weak to do anything but fall prey to mine. No matter our inner turmoil, we suffered together by the others hand as we tussled and fought within the viscous cycle of our dance.

Yet, I wondered if it would be possible...

In a small voice I asked, "Will you ever love me?"

His eyebrows raised in surprise as I broke the pattern of our winding steps before his features returned to their blank, infuriatingly blank, expression, "I have no use for an irrational emotion like love and I refuse to waste my efforts on someone as unworthy as you."

A small intake of breath marked my pain.

Why, to say such callous things...with no regard to my feelings...how could you be so cruel, Dr. Crane? Why must you pull me back into the cycle I'm trying so hard to free us from?

I swallowed and replied with a mix of desperation and agitation as I begged with my eyes for him to end this hurtful dance, "What will I have to do to become worthy in your eyes? I've undergone experiments, lessons, and whatever else you've asked of me. What else do you want from me? What else can I do?! I've proved my devotion to you time and time again yet you always tear my achievements to shreds or call my actions unstable.

'I may not have the same schooling as you or the same goals in life but I've been with you throughout everything...I'm the only 'test subject' to survive this long, I'm the only person you trust enough to assist you in your work, and I'm the only person willing to love you despite your _many_ cruelties—Who else is there for you to love?"

His eyes clouded with an emotion I was unable to understand as his energy softened in sorrow...then all too easily it twisted to a cold, numb feeling, "She's dead."

Without speaking further, he untangled from my grip and returned to his seat to pick up the fallen book. Coldly, he brushed past me now leaving the laboratory. Yet just before he walked through the door, he spoke, "I expect you to finish your assignment as well as create your own molecular structure of whatever compound you believe will show the appropriate reaction when ingested—"

Softly I called out, "Dr. Crane..." I don't want to dance anymore...

He turned his head slightly, pale eyes flashing, "_Then_ you will test them."

Without another word he left the room, closing the door harshly behind him as he sealed our fate within the cruel cycle.

Numbly, I stared at the chipped paint of that door...

Its white colour mocked me as I failed to purge ourselves of the destructive, repetitious manner we plotted against each other. Yet now, instead of merely failing, I was dealt a grievous wound. One I wasn't sure how to respond to.

He...He was in love with a dead woman?

Oh, the irony...How much I felt like laughing hysterically before giving into my desire to rage.

How dare he, after everything, deny me because of a—

What was I thinking?

I have no right to hate some unknown, deceased woman because he's still in love with her.

If anything I should take this as a sign of respect. After all, if Dr. Crane honoured the deceased enough to remember one of them with such love—_the love __**I**__ wanted_—and devotion—_the devotion __**I**__ deserved_—then why should I argue—why _shouldn't_ I argue?!

How unfair it was!

After everything I've suffered, I never had any chance to capture his heart because of someone I have no chance of competing with...

Slowly I sank to my knees as I struggled to keep my composure

No, I couldn't continue this destructive dance—Just as I couldn't compete with a dead woman.

There was simply no way I would be able sway his heart when there was no chance for anything to change. We were forever doomed to hurt each other again and again and again and again.

It seemed there was no hope for I knew best the stable, calm presence of the dead. The dead didn't change, the dead didn't lie, and the dead didn't fail. Why would he want someone like me, someone unstable, irrational, violent, and weak; someone who was _living_?! Why would he love someone who would only hurt him, deceive him, _fail_ him when he could love and give remembrance to someone who was much more worthy...

Someone who was able to give him a sense of peace—_Would that someone bleed for him?_

Someone who was able to join him in silence—_Would that someone scream for him?_

Someone who could give him comfort—_Would that someone willingly become an experiment?_

Someone who could never hurt him—_Would that someone allow him to hurt her?_

Someone who could be _worthy—Haven't I proven myself worthy?_

Yet no matter my thoughts, I knew I had no chance...

While I was able to bleed, scream, and shed tears simply to assist him in his endeavors, I could not tie him to myself. What use were my arms, so willing to hold him, if he refused my touch? What use was my love when his heart lied in the skeletal grasp of a woman already buried?

A mix of hurt and fury rushed through my veins.

How dare he!

If he had no intention of _ever _loving me, then why did he bother to entrap me in such an elaborate, agonizing dance? What was the point in building up my trust and love if he never planned to return the sentiment? Why did he ever _kiss _me if he belonged to another?! How strong was his love if he was able to play with my heart, to _touch _me in such a manner, to force me to _trust _him entirely?

Apparently, it was strong enough to resist my devotion...my touch...my undying love.

Ha! Wasn't that a beautifully cruel twist, 'my undying love' versus his love for someone unliving?

Nevermind that...I needed to get over this—_he loves another._

Gathering my faltering strength, I stood on unsteady legs.

No, I just need to—_he will never love me._

I walked toward the table, swaying uncertainly.

I couldn't think like that—_I will never be worthy of him._

Stepping closer, I caressed the waiting paper with a shaking hand.

There was no use—_in loving him anymore..._

I gasped as the rouge thought stabbed my heart deeply...I-I couldn't stop loving him.

How could I? After everything that we've been through—_everything _he_ put you through._

I held the pencil tightly with my other hand.

No, I have no—_no one to love._

I poised the pencil above the paper, gasping for breath.

That's not true, I love him—_he will never love you._

I began to write as a tear rolled down my cheek.

I can't—_compete with a dead woman..._

And so we will continue to dance.


	51. Chapter 21: Violin

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank the overwhelming support from all of you readers and reviewers that have followed my story so far! Your words mean more than I can say.**

**ATTENTION!**

**It seems that not too many of you read these author notes which normally is alright, but lately the developments in the story require a bit of background that's found in my prologue 'Jonathan Crane: The Origin of the Scarecrow' which is loosely, LOOSELY based off of the comics. The 'appearance' of Madeline in this chapter is better explained in the prologue but I'm sure you could piece together the story without reading it anyway. I just wanted to give a reference point so as to clear any possible confusion.**

**The other small note is that I quoted the 2005 movie 'Red Eye', starring Cillian Murphy and Rachel McAdams with the words "for the sake of time and sanity". I have other Red Eye references in the story which I will point out as they appear. The movie itself is wonderful and gives me inspiration for Crane in any physical scenes since the two characters share a lot of common points.**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 21 Dr. Crane's POV<strong>

Why did I tell her such a vulnerable piece of information? I had no reason to share such an intimate detail of my life and even if such an occasion had occurred it would not be so difficult to instead lie...but I told her the truth.

Madeline...

I sighed as I ran a hand through my hair.

Whatever incited me to relate the existence of my past lov—friend, is of no consequence to my current situation for it would _not_ happen again.

Despite my revulsion of my earlier admittance, I could not help but wonder what I had been thinking at the time—

Well, to be honest, I _hadn't_ been thinking at all.

_"Who else is there for you to love?"_

I had barely heard Revis speak before I was struck by a memory of _her_. _Her _soft laughter coaxing a smile from my normally stoic face. I had no reason to laugh before that time—before Madeline showed me a side of life I hadn't given thought to.

_"Do you think he's lonely?"_

She asked that innocent question so long ago. Before, I had no feelings toward the rotting sack of straw but she soon changed that. She changed _me_.

_"Do you think he's lonely?"_

What a foolish question...

I shook my head, attempting to rid myself of the onslaught of thoughts when I found myself unable to break away.

Of course, I'm lonely...

She hadn't been addressing me, in that distant time, but now I could hardly differentiate between the beaten scarecrow in that field and myself...adrift in a cold world—

What was I thinking? I had no time to ponder the absurdities of my past. Madeline was dead; I had no business thinking of her musings.

_"Do you think he's lonely?"_

I could picture her face...Such innocence gazing upon my wary eyes with sweet inquisition. There were no thoughts of betrayal or snide snickers, just open trust and a sweet smile. I thought her to be foolish, rightfully so, yet I couldn't help but look into those searching eyes.

It was her searching that killed her.

She yearned for understanding, for an answer to her pains but only found a bullet lodged in her head.

Foolish, foolish Madeline.

Why did you defend me? I had no use for your pain...You shed your blood for naught—Bo didn't cease my torment, Sherry didn't silence her gossip, nothing was different since the night you fell from that roof: dead. Your death was in vain.

You shouldn't have been searching for answers...I already had the answers. Life is cruel, people are vindictive and ambitious, there are no happy-ever-afters. Those were the answers you sought. You knew them all along but refused to accept it.

Foolish, foolish Madeline.

No one mourned you, it seemed so unfair—but that's what life is: unfair, uncaring, and impartial. No one would change their ways...Not until I _forced_ their hand.

That was the key to life, Madeline. If you want peace, you must _silence_ those who oppose you. If you want your happiness you must _take_ it—I could have given you all of the answers you sought but you instead chose to protect me, to _die_ for me.

Foolish, foolish Madeline.

Nevermind that, it was in the past and now I should focus on the _other _foolish woman.

After all, Revis would be preparing the molecular structures of her compounds which would then be brought to life and tested. At last, I could make use of her. It was an endearing quality she possessed, the quality to easily mould into whatever role I wished.

Opponent, patient, test subject, assistant, no matter the position with only a few twists to her bleeding heart she fell into line. Of course, there was always the pestering rebelliousness that seemed to pop up in the most inconvenient of times—like today—but those moments were easily smothered although the newest act of rebellion may require more thought than the others.

I clenched my hands into fists as I recalled her malicious smile as she berated my work.

So many years of work...Did no one truly understand the genius of my work or the many, _many_ pains I faced to reach the heights I've surmounted?—

_"For you are merely Icarus, flying higher than father psychology warned"_

What did _she_ know of my brilliant designs and complex equations? She was merely a pawn, just a lowly mortician who mistakenly directed her attention where it was unwanted—

_"Then you'll take your fall from grace, burning brightly as an example to others who press the natural boundaries."_

—and look where that brought her. Now, she was hopelessly in love with me, willingly accepting my toxins, and barely able to stand in the shadow of her former life. If anything, _she _was the one who had fallen.

Brown hair styled in ringlets, the flutter of black lace in the wind, pale skin so soft but now marred by the wide eyes that strained to comprehend the cruelties of this world...and then closed as tears slipped down cold cheeks unnoticed.

**BANG!**

She fell.

Angrily, I stood from my bed which I had been sitting on as I had first entered the house. I had no use in reliving the past, I would not be the successful man I was today if I had spent my time giving remembrance to something that would never change.

...

Thunder boomed in the distance as the onslaught of rain renewed with a greater frenzy. Lightning flashed in the sky, casting the gloom of the house in a wicked luminance. Once more, the thunder shook the air with a sharp fury. Now the buckets of rain hardened into large chunks of ice.

The sound created was most distracting as if a million men stormed across the rooftop in a haste so dangerous it threatened to cave the roof it—Yet I knew it wouldn't. The rooftop of this impromptu house held interlocking tiles, the like of which is unused today due to it's _too_-decent job of dispelling rain, hail, and such penalties of nature's wrath. Yet the house which hadn't been updated since the 1950's circa, held _many_ faults.

It wasn't the fact that the screens in all the windows were poked through with holes and off their intended track making it impossible for the screens to be pulled down from the top of the window and secured at the bottom—Not that the windows themselves which swung out were ever used. It wasn't the chipped tile in the bathroom and kitchen nor the faded paint and occasional indentations in the already thin walls. Of all the faulty workings of the house, the _floorboards_ were the greatest offence.

These gnarled floorboards howled—No, _shrieked_ with sudden intensity when anyone so much as shifted their weight upon its surface. Normally, I would experience only a modium of faint annoyance at the sound but now that I was sheltering _someone_ else, the tell-tell house informed me all too quickly every movement _she_ made.

Before, this hadn't bothered me. In fact, it became a useful tool to closely monitor my wayward patient—but now...It seems that the unstable woman living with me has taken a new joy in _haunting_ me with reminders of Madeline.

In all honesty, I had been shirking my duties in order to avoid her—Not that she stood as a source of opposition or peril to myself but rather a source of unwanted unpleasantries in which I had no time to be bothered with.

My research has always been of a complicated rhythm, falling and rising in matters of success yet even with Revis' 'assistance' I lacked the means necessary to my intentions—or should I say the funds.

This ramshackle house was a risky last resort to continue my plans—one that I was surely paying the penance for acquiring. As Revis unraveled the lies of the pseudo-Arkham in which I had entrapped her, I knew the abandoned warehouse would no longer suit my needs. Of course, my own house was out of the question—A year spent in Arkham was testimony to that! Although my business within Arkham itself was _most_ pleasing, allowing my attentions to then shift to my wayward patient.

It wasn't too difficult to acquire a place of residence; a small suburb of new residential housing near the outer edge of the city made for a great source of shelter and test subjects. Those who I deemed unworthy were merely sent on their way, deep trauma blurring their memories until only a strong, irrational fear of the area kept them from returning. Then a multitude of construction signs, roads laced with rolls of yellow tape, and a series of flyers warning others of a dangerous, toxic gas leak kept any nosy outsiders at bay—Yet the months which have passed proved the need to move on.

After all, there's only so much rummaging through the houses for money, food, clothing, etc. and payments made from the decreasing bank account of the house's previous occupants (easily found within a filing cabinet) in order to keep the water, gas, and electricity running. Not to mention, it's hardly sanitary to keep the garbage piled in the house next door—along with the partially embalmed bodies which Revis took under her wing.

No, it was most certainly time to move on—but to where?

My deposits of money were made under two pseudonyms cannot last forever, especially considering the danger that would follow if I was recognized on a trip into society—already the vans, sedans, cadillacs, and other cars were nearing empty due to the little time available to safely refill the gas tanks.

I had instead switched from car to car until almost all had expired its use. Of course, most my trips were made in either secret of in the early days in which Revis was kept in the garage as a willing and submissive test subject—Ah, how wonderful those days were.

Honestly, between her aggravating mood swings, insolence, irrationality (especially concerning the topic of love), and rebellion it hardly seems as though much of a change has occurred within the course of time spent under my dominion.

Yes, it was most clear that I was in a rut of sorts, nearing the end of my resources yet lacking the tools to replenish them. It would be unwise to linger in this house, this empty neighborhood, for too long—Yet where else would I journey to, especially with someone as useless as Revis?

A rich volley of musical notes permeated the air, filling my throat with rancid bile. Did she really think such acts of foolish musings were of any use? There was no melody, no lullaby, to wash her fears away but rather that damned violin, of which I've been subject to for _days_, acts as a siren's call, luring her into the embrace of danger.

Enough! I _will_ have her obedient!

A sharp crash of thunder punctuated my silent words.

I had been lenient, forgiving, for far too long. She has grown used to my passive behavior thinking her to be passed punishment—Oh, how wrong she was to think I would allow her to do as she pleases!

Angrily, I tore through the hallway, uncaring if my rapid approach was broadcasted by the screeching floorboards before I wrenched open the door to her bedroom.

Startled, she flinched causing the violin to squeak in protest as she looked up—

Blue gold eyes gazed imploringly into my own framed by long, light brown and gold hair. The colours seemed more vivid by her reddened eyes, spilling forth silent tears shed with care to not betray weakness.

Such pain...I felt a sharp jab to my heart as those _seemingly _green eyes, rimmed red, closed for the last time—

"I'm sorry—"

Madeline!

"—if I disturbed you," there was a pause in which she sniffled while lowering her violin in order to wipe at her eyes, "I-I didn't mean to—"

Revis...It was only Revis. She must have been playing in order to cover the noise of her strangled weeping from the empty, echoing walls which all too often spilled forth sound in a rush of gossiping tones.

A sudden flash of humiliation flared in my veins yet I strode forward with confidence and tore the offending instrument out of her hands, sending it crashing to the floor in a sudden clamour.

Gasping, Revis reacted on instinct and began to quickly kneel in order to rescue her beloved violin—

Ha! As if I'd let her passions rule her mind! No, that was too dangerous. She was unable to function with so much overwhelming stimulation, it was best if she focused her efforts on the work expected of her.

Intercepting her, I firmly grasped her shoulders as I pushed her back causing her to stumble in the open air until she caught her balance against the wall still tightly gripping the violin bow.

"What—" she began in a choked voice before I intercepted.

"Don't ask questions. There's nothing to search for, Ma—" I bit my tongue before retrieving the violin from the floor and collecting my thoughts, "Your efforts at gaining my attention have succeeded. Congratulations Revis, you've reminded me of how I've shirked my duties," I sneered down at her pale, trembling form, "For instance, I should have destroyed this nuisance a long time ago—"

Without further explanation I harshly struck the already abused violin against the wall, its impact echoing sharply as the reverberation of the cracking wood shot sharp pins from my hand into my arm.

"No! STOP!" Revis yelled hoarsely as I ignored her in favor of destroying her 'precious' violin.

A sharp pain flared across my back as she began to ferociously beat me with the bow.

Exhaling harshly, I threw the well mangled instrument, strings snapped and once polished wood in shambles, to the ground in order to wrestle the bow from her hands before snapping the wood and horse hair against my leg.

Now only the sound of hail pummeling the roof was heard amid our heavy breathing as more tears fell down from her flushed face while she struggled to maintain some semblance of composure despite her shoulders which shook with barely suppressed grief—or was that rage?

Yes, it was rage for she soon prepared to lunge at me but I caught her off guard by returning her gesture weeks before as I backhanded her causing her head to turn sharply, brown and gold hair flying as she fell to the floor.

I stood panting, slowly reigning in my explosive fury before I acted out rashly again—A flash of lightning flared outside, the blinds to her window glowing inhumanly before a tremulous rampage of thunder sounded nearby.

Had I such little control of myself that I was able to lose myself to my rage as easily as Revis?

Speaking of which, her shaking form remained on the ground, quivering arms barely supported her body as her legs lay useless, unable to find purchase in the wood through the haze of shock. Never had I resorted to such outright displays of physical violence. She was probably unable to process the swiftly changing events—

"How **dare** you," she hissed venomously from behind the tangled veil of her hair. Her arms shook even more fiercely as she whipped her head around in order to both move her troublesome hair from view as well as fix me with a livid glare dampened by the red mark across her face. Defiantly, she raised her voice in a hoarse bark, "How dare you!"

She eased the pressure of her arm by sitting on the floor, partially reclining as she continued, "You think you're so much better, so much more important or _intelligent_, than everyone else but you're not," she paused to send me a dark look, "You're no better than the lowliest scum living in the gutter; from the mob to the slums you're no different than any other filthy man in Gotham!"

Once more my lividity rose but I controlled it as a sudden flare of brilliance appeared within my mind.

Oh yes, that would do quite nicely...Yet I would need to make my point clear before continuing.

I lowered myself to her level until I was balancing on my haunches, "Interesting notion, Revis, but I assure you there are quite a few differences between myself and the general scum of Gotham yet for the sake of time and sanity I'll only explain one difference," I reached down ignoring her flinch and easily blocking the wild swing from her free hand yet due to the shift in gravity she fell onto the ground face first and I quickly took advantage of this by pinning her to the rough floor.

"Get off of me!" she yelled as she struggled but I only leaned down and brushed her hair away from her reddened face tucking it behind her ear causing her to pause.

Unnerved by my action her mad scramble to free herself stilled as I huskily whispered, "The difference, my _dear _Revis," she gave a halfhearted jerk attempting to dislodge me before ceasing her futile actions, "between those men and myself is as such: no matter the opportunity presented to me, I have never used your body for my own pleasure."

She froze, gasping as my words hinted upon the (false) notion that I _had_ desired to do so. It was time she was reminded of her position and my generosity as well as the many weapons I wielded should she think of rebelling. After all, this unseemly position would no doubt send her spiraling through a series of traumatic memories.

Perhaps the desired effect was too much to ask for as she suddenly regained her bearings and attempted to lash out in blind panic, "DON'T TOUCH ME!" she hollered, her face flushing as she applied herself earnestly to rid herself of my touch.

Yet I only pressed down, taking delight as her efforts crumbled—Did she believe I hadn't noticed her sudden decline of appetite? Whatever sparked the desire to starve herself aside from coffee and the occasional fruit surely was turned against her as I restrained her with hardly an ounce of exertion toward my own reserves of energy.

Foolish, foolish Revis.

As if to give validity my thoughts she slumped against the floor breathing heavily underneath my weight as she turned her head away, "Please...don't touch me," she paused as if waiting for a response but upon receiving none she continued, "_Please,_ if you truly love another—" I pressed myself against her cruelly earning a soft whimper, "—d-don't touch me."

Hissing, I breathed my reply in her ear at a low tone, "I will do with you as I please. You continuously confuse who holds the power and _who_ obeys. So go along and play make-believe that you are either sane or worth something of value as you act the 'honourary' role of Death—but _never_ forget that you _belong_ to me. You forfeited your right to live independently the moment you confessed your love and now you must bear the penance."

I eased myself off of her crumpled form as I straightened my rumpled clothing, "See to it that you are packed by tomorrow. We will be leaving to spread our chemical wares to Gotham's underground. Perhaps as you become acquainted with the very filth you so wrongly confused me with, you'll better understand just how benevolent and merciful I have been to someone as ungrateful as you."

I turned to leave her disgraceful form in the room when a sudden thought occurred to me, "Oh and Revis? There won't be much room for any experimental toxins so tonight you will finish testing them all. I'll be waiting in the laboratory."

I paused, expecting a response of some sort but instead I only saw chilling eyes that regarded me with a mix of fear and sorrow so familiar to that damned night when I lost the only person who was worth saving.

Oh Madeline...Sweet, sweet Madeline.

She blinked causing the illusion to shatter until I only saw the pathetic form of my unstable patient.

Damn Revis...Worthless, worthless Revis.


	52. Chapter 22: Regalia

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers for causing me to smile with maniac glee!**

**Now this chapter is short but I promise you that it's worth the wait and the story is no where near over so please do not panic too much. Also Revis has been pretty tame by her standards so here's a bit of delusional realization for you all. I know she's contradicting herself and acting in a irrational manner but hey-This is Revis, it's bound to happen. **

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 22 Revis POV<strong>

I softly closed and locked the bathroom door behind me, entombing me in the silence of the pristine washroom. Pausing I hovered near the sealed entrance, my fingers a breath away from the white wood as I strained my ears willing myself to hear any movement or word from _him_. Another breathless minute passed before I exhaled in relief: he had not yet returned from his 'errand'.

Not that my presence was met with anything but chilling glares and intense yet silent scrutiny. Ever since we left the house he scarcely spoke a word other than a few necessary commands, likewise I was mostly silent, only nodding or shaking my head unless his terrible gaze promised pain if I did not voice my consent.

No matter his sharp gaze or frigid presence for my work as Death kept me pleasingly busy with no time to ponder absurdities such as his intense hatred or the loss of my violin—My eyes filled with tears upon recalling that night.

How weak I was! If only I had been stronger instead of starving myself foolishly in an attempt to not impose on him, I might have been able to defend myself against his cruel advances.

After that night I began to eat again, starting with small portions and slowly increasing the amounts. I would no longer be made weak by the likes of _him_.

That night opened my eyes to many things. One of which was the loss of my violin that acted as a painful reminder of my priorities.

Didn't I once struggle to find peace in my role as Death while earning money with hard work and Mr. Ba—Zoller's generosity? Then as I lived with Dr. Crane in that old house, I buried my true role in order to better serve _him_.

I had neglected my title for far too long.

Stepping forward, I began to shed my clothing.

What did it matter if he saw me as a terrible burden?

Layer after layer of fabric piled atop the freshly scrubbed tile of the bright room decorated in crème and gold.

What did it matter if I was regarded with disdain for my work?

Soon I was left bare; freed from the prison of my clothes. I stepped forward to the bath as a tingle of pleasant apprehension danced across my spine.

What did my love (what a dark and bedraggled thing!) matter if his heart beats for another?

Without delay, I stepped into the sparkling porcelain tub as I fiddled with the knobs before quickly stepping back so as to avoid the sudden rush of water from the showerhead secured in the clean tiled wall.

In truth, none of it mattered. One man would not control my life; his many exploits to conquer me were futile. He may have my heart and know the lay of my mind but he cannot overcome my title as Death. _He_ is merely a mortal, dealing in the mortal emotion of fear whereas Death conquers _all_.

_Kill him._

I froze under the hot stream of water that soaked my hair and ran soothing rivulets of heat over my body.

I...I couldn't _kill_ him—

Why not?

He frequently expressed his desire to do the same to me. If he was gone there would be no one to keep me from my work; I would be free...free of his haunting eyes, free of his tyranny, free of his punishments.

Numbly I began to wash my hair and body as my mind wandered.

There would be no more poisons, no more tests or experiments. There would only be myself as I lived my life in the glorious name of Death.

_He_ never understood my pains, he only exploited them; _he_ never gave me comfort; he only spread terror and heart wrenching agony; _he_ never loved me and he never will.

I cut off the flow of water as I began to dry myself.

Yes, I would kill him.

Stepping out of the tub, I gingerly wrapped a plush towel around my body before using a second fluffy towel for my long hair.

He deserved to die.

I walked to the mirror, the wide and gleaming glass was fogged from my hot shower. Uncaring of dirtying the glass, I wiped the misted surface with a hand revealing my water streaked reflection.

A sharp stab of pain tore through my heart.

How could someone as weak as me overcome _him_?

I...I couldn't _kill_ him—

Why not?

_He_ was the reason for my weakness, my hesitation. Due to his many manipulations I was dragged into his iron embrace, unable to save myself as the cold metal seared me with its tainting, poisoning, touch.

No, he _would_ die.

I stared into my agonized eyes, loathing the ugly look of weakness and emotion.

He _needed_ do die.

Slowly, I watched as that pained, broken gaze hardened until I was met with a cold shade of blue so similar to _his_ sinister eyes that my heart stuttered—

No, I was better than _him_ for I was Death. This is the look of immortal darkness, the bearer of the eternal abyss. Soon even the flare of gold in my eyes crystalized to a sharp jagged shade of brilliance, a yellow flash of warning.

I felt a sense of purpose fill me until even my marrow was infused with the hum of importance. Ceremoniously, I donned the clean clothes I had brought with me before tending to my long, matted hair. Even the brambles of my unruly hair could not wilt my growing pride and blooming regalia.

Once presentable, I gazed into the mirror one last time as I drank in my calm almost serene face, the dark blue bruising of my eyes which gave the cold orbs an unnerving appeal, and finally my regal posture which spoke of the change within me.

Yes, I was Death and I would not fall prey to something as irrelevant as _fear_.

…

I waited for his return in a high backed chair adjacent to the writing desk on the far wall of the large hotel room. My dirtied clothes had been packed away again, joining the other worn clothing that had accumulated as the days passed. Yet I was in no hurry to face him again but rather I had taken this time of waiting to solidify my resolve and once more erect defenses on both my heart and my energy. Within this time I had also pondered the tool I would use to subdue him into relinquishing his life.

He would fight back, of this I was sure, so it was best to use something efficient and to catch him unaware. For a while I had toyed with the notion of smothering him in his sleep but the idea seemed too intimate and should he overpower me, I would be at his mercy atop a plush bed—something which I did not fancy.

Since when were hotel rooms so lacking in weapons? What happened to the days of sharp letter openers or the thick coils of roped fabric which held back heavy drapes? Then again, wouldn't it be best to use his own toxins against him?

Such thoughts ran through my head almost an hour ago but now I was already prepared, the lethal serum was hidden in a capped syringe tucked into the innermost part of my long sleeved shirt. I would wait until he was asleep before I injected him with his own poison—After all, didn't most people wish do die in the throes of slumber? A peaceful passing could not be promised but he certainly did not deserve such a luxury.

How dare he believe that Death would bow before him? Did he think I was merely a convenient accessory to his work? Without me he wouldn't have been nearly as successful as he was. I was not just referring to my time as a poison tester in which my reactions aided his research and refinery of his potions but to my more recent job of both assisting in the brewing of such concoctions and acting as a threatening figure to those who would otherwise turn against him.

Of course, the malicious thugs merely laughed at the prospect of a mere woman thwarting their advances but I had months' worth of indignities and suppressed rage at my disposal which made it all too easy to slip into a mindless rage. The aspect of guns disgusted me beyond belief but thankfully our current clientele were slow to draw and easily fooled.

How else would such scum willingly buy products from Dr. Crane with a few cleverly delivered appeals to the wonder of his 'drug'? Those low-lifes were the necessary evil for us to begin a steady income.

I personally did not understand the use of poisons as recreational drugs, especially to such base men but I wasn't there to sell the product, only to ensure the safe delivery of money and act as a sort of bodyguard—Hardly a fitting role for Death but it kept me busy and I was surrounded by potential patients. Often it was a fun past time to predict which men would die first.

Yet there was always a great dispute between Dr. Crane and I upon the fate of their bodies. There wasn't sufficient time to either cremate (unless an 'accidental' fire could be started yet it was unwise for we needed to lay low until we established higher connections, or so _he_ said) or embalm my patients yet I refused to leave them as they were.

Needless to say, there were many hasty escapes due to the close calls with the rival gangs (one benefit of working in the Narrows was the great lack of police or rather _clean_ cops) which began to more frequently pop up. On the other hand, perhaps the toxins _were_ for untrustworthy traitors or rival gangs instead of recreational use...

Nevermind that, Death would no longer follow Dr. Crane as he masqueraded as 'Scarecrow' in order to sell his drugs to lowly men. It was absurd to expect Death to obey someone who wore a mutilated potato _sack_ atop his head.

Yes, it was time the reign of Death found more suitable work. The expensive hotels (like this one) which we used as lodgings when apart from the grime of the Narrows would be missed but after I killed him I could always make use of the money he accumulated. After all, it was a fair move considering the theft I was dealt as he used my hard earned money for his own funding.

Yet where would I begin?

Working in a morgue within the state would be out of the question, I would have to relocate to some remote location or perhaps to another country. Canada was still an option at this point; I had always admired its lush abundance of nature and peaceful way of living.

Of course, there was crime and other bothersome acts _everywhere_ but within a new territory there would also be new discoveries—Not to mention, the proper circumstance to hunt down the tramp and guide her to the Underworld after a _long, arduous_ lesson.

Still my thoughts continued to return to a single point: life without Dr. Crane...

Before the idea was terrifying, impossible to comprehend and insane to attempt yet now I felt a sense of peace about the prospect.

No more pain...No more poison...No more love...

I wanted to be free of my sickening weaknesses and ungainly, _mortal_ faults for Death could not associate oneself with such human connotations as _fear_.

He thought I was weak, enthralled by my love.

_"I can see it in your eyes, you long to leave but you know you're unable to live without me."_

He was wrong. Just as my eyes have changed so have my priorities. _I_ had not been able to leave him due to his tyrant grip on my heart but _he_ already released me from that past vice with his cruel words.

_"I have no use for such an irrational emotion as love and I refuse to waste my efforts on someone as unworthy as you."_

Unworthy? Oh yes, I was very unworthy of my current position for my talents required far greater heights than _he_ could ever claim.

He did not love me and never will so why should I allow myself the indignity of pining after someone who would only degrade and endanger me? Rather, I should use my energies to reunite him with his past love. Surely, that would be best? After all, Death would not be cast asunder by the blunder of humanity masquerading as love. I was so foolish to love him!

"_You've been longing for that release of pressure, someone to take your burden from you. You long to live untroubled by matters such as I have dealt with. You yearn to live free from the past but you're unable to take that step without someone else to help as I have_—_"_

What mindless tripe did he expect me to believe? That Death could not surpass mortal faults? It was the damned Arkham which weakened my perspective and allowed me to fall to such callous, vicious manipulations. Then when Lucius appeared...How foolish I was to cling to Dr. Crane, of all people, for safety! Ha! Instead of finding a sanctuary I only secured my residence in a personal hell.

Enough of this foolishness!

My love would fade...It may take years but surely the pain would preferable to staying here—Besides, Death's work should be my only source of happiness. Nothing else should interfere with my immortal work. Death had no time for love and no use for Dr. Crane. Although I had been staring at the door during my ponderings, I was startled by a sudden commotion caused by the door swinging open in order to reveal my former psychiatrist and love. I met his sharp gaze with a look of equal frost.

Prepare yourself, Dr. Crane, for tonight you die.


	53. Chapter 23: Memento Mori

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers for your wonderful support and imput into my story! I hope I can continue to please you all in the future!**

**That said, this chapter has another reference to the 2005 film 'Red Eye' with the hotel 'Lux Atlantic'. It's a wonderful movie and I encourage all of you to watch it!**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 23 Dr. Crane POV<strong>

I opened the door to the hotel room expecting to be met with darkness and perhaps a sleeping silhouette of Revis in bed; however, I did _not_ expect to see Revis waiting patiently in a high backed chair turned away from the writing desk where a small lamp gave dim luminance to the room.

I raked my eyes over her form as if I could find a physical clue as to the reason she sat there unmoving and unflinching from my gaze. Instead, her expression was a bit strange: marring her blank face were the two cold orbs of frigid ice and a sharp warning of gold. It was rare that she should assume such a look, least of all to _me_.

Wishing to dispel this nonsense as soon as possible, I securely locked the door and safety latch before approaching her, "Revis...I did not expect you to be awake at this hour."

Her gaze flashed to the glowing clock resting on the bedside table declaring the time to be around 1:30 in the morning. She smiled briefly as if she found great amusement in the hour yet soon turned back to me, her expression as serious as Death itself—the pun weighed heavily on my mind as she spoke, "I find that old habits are hard to break—Especially the circadian rhythm I've developed over the years."

I cleared my throat before continuing, "Very well then, perhaps it is best that you are awake," her eyes narrowed, "for now I may make amends."

She scoffed at the prospect, "Amends? So even the most arrogant of men grovel before Death?"

I clicked my tongue in disapproval yet retained my prized composure, "I'm not here to grovel but rather I come bearing a gift I believe you will find _most_ enchanting."

She abruptly stood before gingerly crossing her clothed arms—Odd, she rarely wore long sleeves…

"A gift? I don't—"

I cut her off by reaching into the inner pocket of my suit (I still could not help but marvel at the crisp feeling of power that such luxury clothes brought) and withdrew a small trinket, allowing the gold chain laced with black to hang from my hand in order to better reveal a bauble of a crow's silhouette almost an inch tall and half an inch wide, "Surely the presence of a creature of Death will prove that I have no ill intentions?"

She barely gave the necklace a second glance before sneering at me, "This is no different than roses after a fight; not only is it a pointless trifle but accomplishes nothing. You were better off throwing your money into a fire."

Such a troublesome woman! Could she not accept the gift without such unnecessary bickering?

"Come now Revis, is it truly so difficult for you to accept a gift without analyzing every aspect of it?"

She boldly walked forward and spoke mockingly, "Oh _please_ forgive my doubts when I am so accustomed to only receiving poison."

I raised an eyebrow, "As you can see, there is no poison here."

She regarded me with disdain, "Yes, only a sadistic doctor who has tortured me for months without any inclination of sweet intentions."

I broke the remaining distance between us until she was forced to look up to meet my eyes.

How weak she was compared to myself! Honestly, what was the point in fighting when it was so obvious she could not win? No matter the odd resemblance to Madeline, Revis was of no great concern yet it seems I need to once more 'woo' her if my plans were to amount to greatness.

I tilted my head, "Oh? I seem to recall a different set of events in which _you_ volunteered to test—"

"Only under threats!"

"Threats?"

"To the crows," she glared at me fiercely, "You would have—"

I looked deeply into her eyes, "So then, is it not fitting that I wish to mark a new chapter of our lives with a crow? No longer are you testing poisons, instead you're advanced to a greater calling under my careful direction. I had only thought to give you a peace offering of sorts."

She paused before exhaling and retreating to the plush bed in order to lower herself upon its soft frame as if she needed to collect herself before continuing.

Not allowing such an ample opportunity to pass, I too sat down leaving barely any space between us. Without giving her time to protest, I leaned forward, "If I may?"

Her eyes flashed to mine, the harsh look fading in favour of uncertainty yet I continued to near her as I unclasped the necklace and slowly wrapped my hands behind her neck in order to once more secure the necklace in place.

I felt her sharp inhalation as the cold metal touched her warm skin but hid my smile as I trailed a finger along the chain, brushing past her neck teasingly until I was at the crow itself which I gently pulled so that the slackened chain was taut.

A small whisper of inaudible syllables escaped Revis when she leaned away slightly, the sound of lace crinkling filled the breathless silence. I glanced down and saw the black lace of the skirt she wore. Black lace—

I looked into her sweet eyes framed by long ringlets of chocolate and caramel, her cheeks were aglow with a beautiful blush. My hand raised slowly in order to cup her face as I leaned in to kiss Madeline—

A breathless cry of shock sounded before I took her lips in a passionate kiss, my hand rising so that I was able to bury my fingers into her hair.

Instantly I was transported to the dance that night as I rewrote the events. We were atop the roof of the school, Georgia stars shining brilliantly as I held her in my arms uncaring of anything else but the quaint woman in my arms. She clung to me as well, her fingernails digging in my arm painfully—What was wrong, Madeline? Bo and Sherry didn't exist in this secret world. We could finally—

I was pushed back as Madel—_Revis_ fixed me with a look of utmost contempt which was merely a flimsy veil to the pained _want_ in her eyes.

"What—"

Holding in a gnawing desperation to return to that moment, I quickly spewed the first thing that came to mind, "_Memento Mori_."

She passed in confusion which I used to kiss her once more—

She attempted to push me away yet I firmly grasped her hands in order to interlock our fingers as I stared forcibly into her eyes, "_Memento Mori_, remember your mortality. I believe it is time we both accept our mortality and cease our pointless struggles to usurp the other."

Her eyes were wide as she fought to find a strong argument, "You love someone else— "

I tightened my grip on her hands until she winced in pain and turned her head away, "I have accepted my mortality and the importance of conveying one's _true_ desires but it seems you are still struggling, Revis."

She shook her head before raising it and speaking in a shaky, disbelieving tone, "You _don't _desire me."

I said nothing for a while as I leaned in until our foreheads met and I could feel the heat of her breath against my lips, "It is _you_ who cowers from any aspect of your mortality. You cannot accept your own earthly attachments and so you shun mine."

Her lips trembled with fear, such delicious fear, yet I could only think of the genius of my manipulations. She was correct in assuming that I did not desire her yet she was also incorrect in assuming that I loved Madeline. Her death was unjust and still twisted my innards with pain and regret yet it was foolish to hold such an attachment for someone dead as dirt.

Madeline had died before I could begin to love her, back in a time when I was _able_ to feel such weak emotions.

Love was irrational and notorious for giving mankind a reason to copulate, deceive, and slaughter in a pointless cycle caused by the yearning for a simple chemical reaction. I refused to take part in such pathetic trivialities but it had been weeks since Revis last declared her morbid love for me and I needed to ensure that her emotional attachment had not faded.

As much as I was loathing to admit her mild competence, I did not desire the strong willed woman to turn her demented rages upon myself. It was far better to kill my silly attachment to Madeline while ensuring Revis' undying devotion despite my reluctance to pursue any _physical_ advances. Even more frustratingly, I would have to take caution to ward off any possibility of bringing her past traumas to mind as I continued with my plan.

Inwardly sighing, I once more pressed my lips to hers, threateningly squeezing her hands as a warning to not attempt to free herself from my advances.

Sickeningly enough she allowed the 'romantic' endearment with only slight hesitance.

How was it possible to feel such joy and rapture upon viewing her as Madeline yet feel such revulsion upon seeing her as my troublesome patient?

Unable to continue, I broke apart in favor of turning her hand so as to reveal her wrist. Gently, as if she were something fragile, I breathed along the exposed skin, my lips occasionally brushing against her thrumming pulse with the light pressure of a butterfly's wing.

I peppered her wrist, especially the silver scar which marked the spot she had intentionally cut her wrist with a scalpel so long ago, with kisses so tender I felt nauseated but reassured myself that it was better than sharing a proper kiss.

While she initially tensed as I lowered my mouth to her wrist, she now relaxed and stared at me with a look akin to hesitant wonder.

I shifted my grip on her hand in order to shower my affections upon the scar of the burn across the edge of her palm. Due to our hands former embrace her hands were warm with a slight hint of moisture.

How repulsive.

I paused, my mouth a mere breath away from her skin as I gazed at her with an intense look, staring into her eyes without reserve.

Her breath caught, as expected, but I didn't waste the opportunity. Huskily, I whispered, _"Memento Mori_, Revis," before raising myself up to gently push her down against the bed while smothering her qualms with a heated kiss.

Releasing one hand to assist me in shifting my weight atop her so as to not frighten her—Ha! What an absurd notion!—My hand accidentally caught the rough lace of her skirt which revealed the silky texture of her black leggings.

I felt her started gasp which (thankfully) broke the kiss yet I calmed her with a tender hand smoothing out her hair as it spilled across the pillow enticingly. Her eyes were mesmerizing in their _seemingly_ green colour, a colour so similar to Madeline's...

"_Memento Mori_," I whispered as I pushed forward to kiss along her neck, contradicting her erogenous zone with the slightest of kisses, I eased myself to whisper in her ear, "Surrender yourself to your earthly desires."

Weakly, she lifted a hand and trailed a trembling hand along my face. I tolerated the action as I directed my attentions to her necklace which had slid to the hollow of her throat as I pressed her down against the padded bed.

Softly, oh so softly, I pulled the chain down once more until my hand brushed against the fabric of her long sleeved shirt. Her heart pounded, the wet thumping of the organ seemed almost audible as I slowly unbuttoned the first impediment of her shirt.

Hoping to distract her I began showering her cheek, neck, and collarbone with the barest of touches as my hot breath left a burning trail of desire. Already, I could feel her body temperature rising in response to my affections. The second button was easily disarmed and quickly the third and fourth fell as well.

Carefully, I lowered myself upon her, attempting to place as little weight atop her as possible lest she feel threatened by the quick succession of events as I finished unbuttoning the black shirt. For good measure, I focused on giving 'loving' attention to the three scars parallel to each other in a manner that resembled claws on the soft curve of the top of her breast. She gasped in shock yet upon looking into my eyes she calmed.

"You are mortal, Revis," I spoke softly, my lips brushing against the blood red camisole she was wearing underneath the shirt, "Accept your yearnings. Lose yourself to me."

Uneasily, she backed away causing the shirt to part on either side of her and began to slide off her shoulders alluringly.

Annoyed, I kicked off my shoes before advancing on her retreating form on my knees. Surprisingly, she also raised herself up to her knees to intercept me. Now the black fabric was pooled around her elbows as she tried to placate me.

Not in the mood for her petty struggles, I leaned forward—What?

I blinked in confusion before closing my eyes as I realized _she_ had kissed _me_. Even stranger were her hands as she ran them across my shoulders and down my chest, leaving an odd twist in my stomach.

It wasn't until I felt her fingers nimbly unbutton my suit—no doubt stripping the dead gave her much practice—did I realize her true intentions. Before I could protest, she shed the outer layer of my suit and tossed it on the other side of the bed.

Impishly, her hands travelled to my back where they unknowingly caressed a multitude of scars caused by hardened beaks and sharp talons. I shivered unwillingly at the memory, hating her for indirectly—Who's to say she hadn't _purposefully_ done so? With her talent of reading energy, there's no telling what she had already discovered as our skin had touched!

I opened my mouth, ready to unleash a torrent of harsh insults who I found my lips otherwise occupied. She pressed herself against me, her lips momentarily dominating mine as one hand ran through my hair and the other rested atop my shoulder searing the thin fabric of my shirt with the heat of her hand.

She broke the contact in order to lower her head against my chest and embrace me tightly, "Jonathan..." she whispered.

Oh Madeline...

My fury melted as I recalled the feeling of her in my arms.

Allow me to make this night memorable, let me erase the stains of your blood atop the hard, unforgiving cement.

I held Madeline tightly, returning her heartfelt embrace as I rested my head atop of hers, savouring the feel of her hair against my cheek.

She gently disentangled her arms from my body, reminding me of my previous desires.

I lowered myself against her, my tie falling against her chest earning a smile at the action. Madeline leaned back as I pressed forward, I took the edges of her shirt, momentarily pausing at the odd feeling of rounded plastic under fabric—No, it was only my imagination. I swiftly stripped her of her shirt allowing it to fall to the floor already forgotten as my hurried movements forced her to fall...

Beautiful ringlets of hair flew back enticingly as she gave into gravity's pull, closing her eyes against the motion...only to open them, her face alit with silent laughter as her fall was cushioned by the plush bed.

Oh Madeline...Sweet, sweet Madeline.

_This_ is right: her and I, together, in a room so far away from the terrors of the world.

Smiling, feeling the purest of joys, I readily met her lips enjoying the plump feel of those slightly scabbed lips as we playfully fought for dominance. I let out a groan of contentment as she easily pulled my tie, unraveling the tight collar before unbuttoning the first few buttons of my longsleeved shirt then letting the loose fabric of my tie fall freely, landing atop her bare arm where it covered the raised, pink scar along her left arm.

Yes, there should be no reminders of pain...Here, in this special, secret place, there should only be peace and passion.

Oh Madeline...Precious, precious Madeline.

I worshiped her body, not a moment was idle as I tenderly held such a fragile, precious woman in my arms. Madeline responded with an equal degree of gentleness as if fearing this wondrous moment to disappear leaving her alone, cold, **dead**—

No! Madeline was here, alive, in my arms.

I paused in my affections feeling the warmth of our bodies as we sought comfort and sanctuary in the other. Eying her with reverence, I spoke softly, soothing the timid uncertainty marring her lively, lovely face, "This is real, you have my word that I will not betray you to the cold world."

Undiluted light, raising my once fallen spirits, rushed through my veins. For a moment, I feared the pulsating rays of amazement and admiration would be apparent as if it were shining through every pore—and perhaps it did for Madeline saw _something_ within me but she wasn't scared, rather she basked in the emotion and returned the sentiment in words so sweet my scarred hear threatened to break anew, "I love you, Jonathan..."

I shifted off of her in order to lie beside her, propping my head up with one hand as my other caressed her face still glowing with the love she just professed.

I lacked the words to convey my emotions so instead I replied, "Sleep now, there's an important meeting three days from now at the Lux Atlantic Hotel."

She nodded sleepily, forgiving my blunder as I reminded her of the world outside these walls. Sluggishly, she turned on her side and burrowed herself into my arms while turning her back till it faced me. Once more, I marveled at the moment but a growing feeling of discontent, dare I say sorrow, began to rise.

Shaking off the feeling, I lowered my head toward hers in order to kiss her cheek once more as I whispered, "Goodnight Madeline..."

So overcome by the events of the day she barely had the energy to mumble her reply before falling into sleep yet a stab of icy realization washed over me as her reply of 'Goodnight Dr. Crane' echoed in my head.

For a moment, I was seized with the irrational desire to shake her awake demanding to see evidence of the wonders I had marveled at just a few minutes ago but I knew by the bone aching loss accompanying my logic that I would only see Revis, muddled from interrupted sleep.

Damn her! Such trickery! Why—H-How can she so callously refuse me my Madel—

Madeline is dead.

A harsh ache wore my chest raw as I laid down on the soft bed holding someone who for all intents and purposes was more repulsive than the decayed corpse which Madeline must resemble nowadays.

Disgusted, I quickly tore my body away from hers yet by a small mercy she remained asleep. Unable to stomach the situation, I hurried to the clock in order to suppress the alarm so she would not awake for a long while.

I sneered at the time: 4:38.

Had I really spent so many hours with _that_ filth!

Snarling in contempt, I stepped sideways in order to journey to my luggage when a rounded object stabbed my socked foot with a small modium of pain. Peering down curiously, I retrieved a capped syringe of an opaque white liquid with faint streaks of diluted red...What was a syringe full of lethal toxin doing on the floor?

Immediately, my eyes traveled to the sleeping form of Revis but I quickly discarded the notion. She lacked the cunning and will to _think_ of leaving me let alone hold thoughts of _killing_ me!

No matter, I would simply return it to the appropriate satchel with no harm done. Yet I would need to move quickly if I were to meet my contact at the appropriate time.

Hurriedly, I packed a sufficient amount of clothes (including the discarded suit jacket on the bed) and other toiletries into a smaller suitcase. Trusting that Revis would be sensible for once and wait in the prepaid room until I returned, I journeyed to the door, my mind already focusing on the events of this new day.

I paused as I appraised Revise one last time...then closed and locked the door behind me.


	54. Chapter 24: Liar

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers for your wonderful feedback and support, I always look reading your reactions and answering any questions you may have ^-^**

**ATTENTION!**

**For this chapter I have used bold words throughout the chapter in order emphasis certain words (as usual) and to express rogue thoughts, like those snappy little comments you think to yourself when you're planning for something. I'm NOT trying to introduce a 'voice' in Revis' head. The bold writing is just her mind fighting with itself, there will be no 'voices' or personalities or anything of the sort that she's listening to. If anyone can suggest a better way of defining these rogue thoughts from her normal thoughts then PLEASE do tell me. Once more Revis is crazy, her logic is irrational, she believes herself to be Death incarnate-but she doesn't hear voices.**

**On a minor note, I'm really bad with updating. I said Sunday/Monday but here I am on Friday...So new schedule: sometime between Friday-Monday because I can never pick a single date and stick with it.**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 24 Revis POV<strong>

My mind flickered into consciousness, adding sound and sensation to my previously dark world. Yet there was no sound to disrupt me and the feel of the luxurious bed beneath me seductively called me back to a world of blessed unconsciousness...

Gently, I inhaled through my nose, a particular scent tickling my olfactory bulb, before exhaling in contentment—

My eyes opened suddenly upon recognizing the smell from the fleeting moments I was surrounded by _his_ scent.

Blearily, I blinked as dark blue and light blue stripes tangled around each other dizzily. I rubbed at my sleepy eyes dispelling my blurred vision and the minute sleep crystals which had accumulated as I slept.

A distant part of me noted a cool slither of fabric trailing down my skin but I ignored it. Upon opening my eyes once more, I was met with the sight of Dr. Crane's tie twisted around my arm like some serpentine creature.

Too puzzled to make sense of much of anything, I snuggled into the heavenly bed and reveled in the relaxed yet joyful feeling which course through my veins. How odd that I should feel so upbeat, let alone on a day that would no doubt be spent trading drugs for money with base men who better resembled animals than anything else.

Curiosity overrode my usual bout of laziness as I turned over—

**Thud.**

Groaning and cursing the awkward placement of both the end of the bed and the beginning of the bedside table, I collected my sore wits and twisted my sprawled out body into a kneeling position before grouchily consulting the clock I had accidentally sent crashing with my untimely descent.

11:45.

Instantly panic gripped my heart in an icy, suffocating hold. Dr. Crane—

My eyes widened as I realized _he_ wasn't here or else I would have received a rude awakening via fear toxin. Yet that raised the question of _where_ he was. Peeping up over the bed, I saw our luggage cases on the table as they were the night before...

The night before?

My hands clenched, bunches of lace and a soft material crinkled in my hands. Looking down I saw my black shirt which I had been wearing yesterday on the floor near Dr. Crane's tie and the tail end of the rumpled sheets above.

Slowly yet gaining speed as the memories resurfaced, I began to remember the _exact_ events of the previous night.

My cheeks flamed with an emotion too sudden to understand as I picked up both my discarded shirt and his tie as I once more dove into the bed where I was met with the welcome embrace of his scent. Yet no sooner than I had adjusted my camisole which had been twisted indecently askew and settled myself, did a large and dopey smile break across my face.

Tears filled my eyes as I was overcome by such a strong feeling of amazement coupled with such a gentle, warm feeling of joy.

He...What _hadn't_ he done to take me by surprise?

Such tender affections he showered me with: kissing me with such emotion, using such delicate brushes of his lips to gingerly caress my scars—

Tears fell down my face as I let out a breathy sob of disbelief and swelling love.

He...He made me feel beautiful.

Me, such a cold, twisted _freak_, he made _me_ feel as though I was something precious...He made me feel _loved_.

For so long I had used my oddities and other aspects of myself which others found to be frightening or repulsive to build up strong walls of steel. I scoffed at the weakness of others who smiled and loved, convincing myself that such things were unnecessary and would only hinder me.

In truth, I was only shielding myself from the truth: I was ugly.

No one would look upon my many scars with an adoring smile. No one would soothe my mind as I was plagued by bouts of insanity. No one would _ever_ give me more than a tight grimace of forced tolerance which poorly veiled their true disdain. I was a _freak_, a**monster,** and no one would ever see me as anyone beautiful or precious—but _he _did.

Each loving kiss across the raised skin of my silver or pink scars healed me as if every warm breath was a drop of blood returning to my once cursed body. Nevermind the knowledge that I had been sullied by another, he stared at me with reverence and used only the barest of touches against my skin. He didn't recoil from me but rather he pressed forward worshiping every scarred, bitter inch of my soul.

Even his loving words, whispered so softly it seemed as though he hadn't spoken at all, touched a once barren and hollow place deep inside of me.

_"This is real, you have my word that I will not betray you to the cold world."_

I sobbed with a strangled joy, too overcome by his sweet endearments and warming touches to attempt to stop the flow of salty tears.

_He_ wasn't repulsed by me, _he_ wasn't deterred; _he_ only granted me the most precious gift of all. I couldn't stop replaying his devotions for the marked every beat of our hearts as a note in a song that would sing for eternity as long as we were in each other's arms.

My tears slowed before stopping altogether as I sat in a sea of blessed memories, distantly aware of my fingers rubbing away the tickling moisture.

Oh Dr. Crane...

Suddenly I was seized with a great desire to find him, wherever he was, and run into his arms knowing he would hold me close, so close, and remind me all over again of our wondrous night.

Yet with the dissatisfying touch to reality, I knew I was unable to do so until he returned and it could be many hours before _that_ happened. Instead, I should direct my attentions to cleaning myself up and studying the next batch we planned to present to whatever customers were scheduled.

I giggled girlishly at the fanciful thought of being immersed deeply in work, so deeply that only a breathtaking kiss could break the spell which kept me devoted to his sciences. Then he would praise me for my dedication with that charming smile of his yet his eyes would betray his sadness at the prospect of leaving me for so long—but I wouldn't let his sorrows consume him. Instead, I would prove that I could be strong and independent, that I could be responsible and dependable. I would reassure him that I was someone worth of him.

Unconsciously my hand travelled to the crow on the necklace he had presented me with the night before. I took comfort in rubbing the metal already warmed by my speeding heart as I continued to daydream in a haze of wonderment and love.

…

My eyes flashed open as a sudden terror gripped my heart. A loud explosion of sound defiled the air with a totalitarian grip of tension and violence.

I blinked in confusion, too distracted by the unexpected strike of thunder to understand where I was—that was, until, I righted myself from my upside-down position and viewed the darkened hotel room through the rush of blood returning to the rest of my body.

Empty. Entirely Empty—Or rather, empty of _him_.

I stared down at the striped tie with a frustrated swell of disgust. Did I truly lose myself to pointless (sweet, I reminded myself) daydreams so much that I fell asleep?

I ran a hand through my hair before grimacing as it became trapped in a knot.

Damn this hair...Damn _him_.

Wasn't he supposed to be here by now? Where did he leave to?

I looked down, ashamed of the fragile uncertainty of my next thought.

Why didn't he tell me he was leaving?

_"_—_There's an important meeting three days from now at the Lux Atlantic Hotel_—_"_

What could be more important than a pressing affair in such a luxurious hotel? At last, it seemed that we would be moving into higher circles of crime—So shouldn't he be here (with _me_) planning out our presentation and reviewing other last minute details?

Enough of this foolishness! I was his assistant so such matters shouldn't be so difficult to work around. If he was gone then _I_ would prepare the toxins and see to that all the little bits were dealt with in such a way that upon his return he would be unable to do anything but thank me—But first, I would need to clean myself up. Despite the utter darkness, it was entirely unbecoming of an assistant to remain in bed all day.

As the rain fell in steady rhythm against the window pane of the patio door, I went about my duties, humming in the darkness.

…

For the millionth time, I glanced at the clock of the room as if frequent clockwatching would hasten his return.

Where _was_ he?

Already, I had tidied up the hotel room, poured over the unseemly sight of his disorganized satchel of toxins (shamefully noting the awkward placement of a certain syringe filled with a lethal toxin among the other vials almost as if he was unsure of what to think of its strange reappearance), and planned out every aspect of the designated products, even going so far as to make a list of ingredients needed to replenish our stock.

In fact, I was so desperate to make myself useful, I once more reviewed his raw data of formulas and scientific journals (delighting that I was able to understand most of it) which depicted the effects of the toxins upon ingestion (most likely complied from the assortment of his impromptu test subjects and myself) in order to make slight adjustments or even new formulas, on separate paper, that might stabilize a few minor weak points of chemical bonds on a molecular structure.

Then once my stomach made its protests known, I appeased it with a meal via room service and the only remaining credit card of the two listed under pseudonyms that Dr. Crane brought with us (the other was presumably with him).

Yet with no more than half the plate empty, I found my hunger had deserted me. It seemed that my growing anxiety killed the desire to do much but obsess over his work and wait for his arrival. It was in this manner that I passed away the hours until I saw with a sharp twist of dismay that yet _another_ day had passed without his return.

For _two_ days he had been missing—Surely this wasn't normal? Even his most strenuous errands didn't surpass eight hours let alone forty-eight!

Leaping to my feet so I would not be overcome by misery, I carefully replaced his many spirals of research and calculations to their proper place in a briefcase while once more ensuring the now organized toxins were in order as well.

Yet my small attempt at constructive behavior failed as I found myself once more drawn to the bed. Before I had only to look at the inviting surface for a slight blush and swell of determination to ensue me with the energy to continue my work in hopes that Dr. Crane would once more find my efforts useful and my arms inviting but now I needed more than motivation...I needed _him_. Of course, this was an absurd idea but it didn't stop me from curling up in the bed so as to take comfort in the memories it provided.

Morosely, I stroked the thick duvet as I struggled to keep my emotions in check. If it wasn't for the presence of his tie wrapped around my arm yesterday morning, I would have believed that such a wondrous moment was merely a cruel imagining—I, of all people, should know the vivid yet dangerous nature of my mind's musings.

I shivered and tightly clutched the fabric of the duvet in my hand.

I didn't want to _ever_ be caught in a delusion as complex and painful as the one I experienced in my adolescent years nor the reoccurring (yet thankfully short lived) delusions I struggled to fight off in the following years. Thankfully, my hallucinations had been scarce—Yet that was due to my strict mindset and lifestyle for those long, secluded years I forced myself to deny all musings or daydreams that might threaten my well-earned sanity.

Grim memories of my former assistant's raw face, blood pouring off the innermost workings of muscle and sinew, appeared in my head.

I sharply inhaled and turned my face into the bed as if such a defensive movement would ward off the terrors of my mind.

**You can never run away...**

** You cannot escape...**

No! I would not be distracted by the harsh memories of my instability—

_The sky spun dizzily as I struggled to keep myself within my body. Already, the pull of the strange inner forces of myself threatened to spring free of my earthly body and leave me in a crumpled mess of strained comprehension._

_ No matter the streaks across the too pale colour of the sky or the throbbing haze within my mind, I continued to walk through the maze of cement within the too green, too dark grass._

_ Originally, the inlay of nature and parks intergraded throughout the back entrance of many neighborhoods was a source of fascination and serenity_—_Definitely an improvement to the prison like, too white walls of my basement bedroom where I had no control over my mind's directions_—_Yet now I felt too exposed, too loose, in this alien environment._

_ Perhaps the asylum like walls of my room were more suitable to my current instability, nevermind the suffocating pain of living which was sure to spread with the four walls reminding me of a coffin buryi__ng me in the earth I detested. However, n__ot even sleep could ease the strain of life...No matter how I wished to live in blessed unconsciousness._

_The idea struck my head with a thousand needlepricks as I hastened my pace through the tilting, blurring world of colour and pain. I had sought to escape my pained thoughts by journeying here but it seemed I was unable to leave the musings_—

_**You can never run away...**_

_I tightly gripped the heavy, wool-like fabric of my brown jacket as the rogue thought brought blurring tears to my already distorted vision._

_The long, itchy sleeves were stretched tight over my skin as I crossed my arms and squeezed myself reassuringly in a discrete hug. My sweating hands dampened the cloth draped over my palms but I didn't bother to release my tight grip._

_ It wasn't fair...Nothing was ever fair in this world._

_ A mother pushing a stroller with two children buckled in passed me as though I wasn't there yet the mere presence of someone caused my heart to jolt painfully in my chest as hot pinpricks of panic attacked my neck, chest, and arms mercilessly. I didn't dare rub the sensation away lest my control break with my self-imposed embrace._

_ A sudden heat infused me with an even greater panic despite the chill of the autumn air. My eyes flickered between the bright yet chipped paint of the metal playground I was currently walking through and the backyard's of the houses all lined up menacingly against the walkway. Tall trees acted as a shroud able to blot out the sky and shelter me from the eyes of all except those nearest_—

_Paranoid, I checked over my shoulder with worry at the barren park._

_ Lucius told me not to go out alone...He said it was too dangerous considering the current political waters of the inhuman populations who possessed overwhelming hatred against him (and therefore me) and the ability to find, follow, and slay me if I wasn't careful but here I was, disobeying him and for no better reason than my own insufferable weakness._

_ He didn't deserve a burden like me...No one did._

_ My gaze lurched as my head lolled without my consent, my fingers tightened their grip as I slowed my pace to a slow shuffle._

_ No, not here. Please, not now. I left my instability when I left that house_—

_**You cannot escape...**_

_Despite my lips' tight seal, a high pitched whine left my throat as I stumbled closer to a tree, fighting against the rampart emotions and energies that threatened to spill out in a mental break of untold proportions_—

_No, focus on the trees; stable trees, solid trees._

_Roots, trunk, branches. Birth from the ground, rooted by the connections of family, the trunk representing life as everyone grew to then expand (as the branches did) in a multitude of diversity, each path bearing growth_—

_Where was death?_

_ Roots, trunk, branches, sky?_—

_No, _where_ was death?_

_ Why couldn't the trees die? Ties to the past (the roots) and the present (the branches) pulled against the trunk without mercy_—_There was no balance within this torturous sight of eternal life._

_ No! There needed to be death, _I_ needed to die and if trees, a classic representation of the human psyche, could not die than neither would I!_

_ My breathing grew labored, tears of panic filled my eyes as I desperately sought to find meaning in such an overwhelming world._

_ Roots, trunk, branches, sky. Roots, trunk branches_—

_Where was death? I needed to find it!_

_Roots, trunk, branches, sky_—

_Was the sky death?_

_ I lurched forward, sickened by the tainted proposition. Already, poisoned filth of heavy, dark green and speckles of cloying brown smeared the idea with revulsion. Tears threatened to fall as I gave a sob of dismay._

_ If the sky was death...The open, eternal sky was death...The sky which threatened to smother the world was death...The everlasting, greedy expanse of sky was death then there would be no death._

_ I fought to stay upright as nausea and my swirling mind overcame me._

_ The sky...The sky was insanity_—_to be ruled by insanity for all of eternity, to feel the retching touch of neverending madness? Didn't I already suffer from it? Was the lack of control, the empty, cruel sky, my only future?_

_ Roots, trunk, branches, sky, stars…_

_Stars...Stars...Stars..._

_ Roots, trunk, branches, sky, stars..._

_ Before I could contemplate the meaning of the stars in the already darkening sky, a sudden gust of wind washed over me with cold relief._

_ No more of this...I needed to return to the house before I was truly lost to my mind._

_ Barely restraining the dizzying rush of boundless thoughts tearing my mind apart, I began to hurriedly retreat down the long path I had taken to reach this point in the grassy hell._

_ Roots, trunk, branches._

_ Roots, trunk, branches._

_ Neverending sky..._

_ I closed my eyes, feeling my body move with all its heavy motions: the jarring sensation of walking, the uncertain need to breathe air, the wet thrashing of my racing hear_—

_Living was so noisy...I wanted the silence death would bring._

_ Only when I was sure I had gained control (and feared I might trip on some unseen object) did I open my eyes_—

_Bright, the sky so bright...The air so thin...The rough bark of the trees stood out in harsh relief against the blurring haze of colours._

_ No...Not here._

_**You can never run away...**_

_Stop it!_

_**You cannot hide...**_

_Leave me alone!_

_ I felt like screaming at the snide voice, my own cynical thoughts, as it laughed in echoing bleats of internal sound._

_ I...I'm leaving._

_ The world swayed and shimmered as I forced myself to continue walking._

_**You can never run away from yourself...**_

_I don't want to be Me!_

_**You can never leave when**_—

_SHUT UP!_

—_**you'll only be running from yourself.**_

_I bit back a sob as my breathing intensified._

_**You can never run away from your own mind.**_

_Yes, I can!_

_ I began to walk faster, wishing frantically that I had never left the maddening confines of __my room._

_**No matter where you go...**_

_I'll get rid of this menace; I just need to return to the house_—

_**No matter what you do...**_

_I just needed to go to the house and call Lucius_—_No, I couldn't bother him with my petty issues._

_**You can never escape**_—

_I took a steadying gasp as I all but raced through the long path connecting all the parks_—_Damn, why had I walked so far?_

—_**your mind.**_

_ I froze._

_ Panting, alone, rotting away from the inside, I realized the truth of the statement: I could never be free of my insanity._

I abruptly sat up, breathing as heavily as I did that day as I held myself in a tight hug, wishing vainly that Dr. Crane was the one holding me.

Gooseflesh broke out across my arms as I shuddered: I could never be free of my insanity—

No, already I was managing! Other than that awful day with my assistant, I hadn't suffered from any hallucinations aside from those of Dr. Crane's toxins—Didn't the hallucinations always lessen when I was consumed by a delusion?

No, for I was sane—

**For now.**

Dr. Crane, a trained _specialist_, would have told me if I was suffering from a break of reality instead of allowing such instability—

**Delusions were often a **_**stabilizing, rationalizing**_** factor of this brand of insanity**.

No, they were dangerous and irrational...He wouldn't stand by idly if I was deluded.

**He's **_**lied**_**, using manipulation whenever it suits him—**

Nonsense...Just last night he—

_**Left**_** after showing an irregular display of emotion and affection.**

No, he _loved_ me with a thousand sweet kisses and tender expressions because he finally realized his _true_ desires.

I clutched at my necklace, rubbing the crow in grounding, soothing motions as I attempted to bring order to my chaotic mind.

Already midday was approaching and Dr. Crane hadn't returned.

Weakened by longing and mental exhaustion, I collapsed atop the heavenly bed inhaling his—

My heart tore a bit as I realized the sheets had lost his scent...

I knew from the 'do not disturb' sign I left on the door handle outside that the room keeper had not changed them yet in a way I would have preferred if he or she did if it meant I could remain ignorant to the proof of the many long hours he had been absent.

Nervously, I glanced to the clock: 11:32.

Tomorrow we were expected at the Lux Atlantic hotel for an important meeting which I knew we could _not_ miss.

What was keeping him? Why didn't he leave a note? When would he be returning? Already two days have passed...

We could _not_ afford to blow off this meeting...but if Dr. Crane didn't return...

Maybe I could leave, alone, to the hotel? After all, I _was_ his assistant.

I sighed knowing it was a useless idea.

No one would listen to an _assistant_, rumored to be an escaped patient of the former Arkham Asylum, when a brilliant _doctor_, whispered to hold untold terrors, was expected.

I rolled onto my back, momentarily hissing as I pulled my own damnably long hair with the motion. Once I had adjusted myself, I sighed. If it wasn't such a good disguise, I would have gladly chopped off the long tresses—

I bolted upright, ignoring the headrush as I bounded across the room to the pile of suitcases atop a low table. It took two tries before I found his suspiciously light suitcase. Upon opening it, I was met with the sight of his suits, neatly stacked in a pile—Although, oddly enough the left side of the suitcase, presumably where his other suits once rested, was bare.

Perhaps he would not return on time and perhaps those at the Lux Atlantic hotel wouldn't take the appearance of a woman assistant seriously, but no one would take a second glance at a _male_ 'doctor' appearing with a supply of infamously potent toxins and _extensive_ knowledge of their properties.

I smiled as I began to plan the exact tools I would need to ensure my success—

**You're only running away...You can't face the fact that he deserted you or the possibility he was only **_**using**_** you. You're only trying to quell your fear of the past for you are unable to face the truth that you **_**belong**_** in a nuthouse.**

I shook my head to clear the biting words from my mind.

I was _not _running away. I was ensuring our success for 'Dr. Crane' _will_ be present at the Lux Atlantic hotel.

**Liar...**


	55. Chapter 25: Dr Crane-esque

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers, seriously I was astounded at such wonderful feedback!**

**Now for this chapter I have a few notes. First I would like to thank 'PurgatoryNymphe' for her wonderful help in checking over the French used in this chapter and future chapters-thank you! Secondly this chapter is a bit of a filler but I couldn't combine this one with the next because of how long and intense the next one is. Not to mention I have never attended a criminal meeting so this is purely fictious and prices of the drugs are overpriced but also close to what I think would be appropiate. The mention of 'Thrill' will not be used as it was in the comics but rather holds a different meaning for the story, it's still a high, 'feel good' sort of drug that harnesses the positive effects of fear but it has its own purpose. The experience in the beginning is my own, cosplaying Dr. Crane has been a fun yet rewarding time although the voice part gets me everytime x.x **

**ATTENTION!**

**I**** do not mean any offense to the French people or French language I'm merely poking fun at the stereotype of dramatic French people and as you all will see his actions are an act that he exaggerates. Please do not think that I'm discriminating against a race of people or their language, Merrick is really an interesting character with hidden depths that will be revealed later on. **

**Now the translations are as follows: _'mains féminines' _ and '_feminium manus' = feminine hands_**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 25<strong>

I took a deep breath as I stared at myself in the mirror of the hotel room. I was faced with a short, hesitant young man in a mildly ill fitting suit and black rimmed glasses. Hardly the arrogant figure of Dr. Crane but hopefully that would change. Even so, I was amazed that a little work with scissors, hair gel, and ace bandages from a nearby convenience store could produce such a great effect.

Absentmindedly, I reached up to my short, gelled hair so as to once more note how short it really was. While it was a blessing to be free of my long tresses, it was a pain to decide upon a suitable hairstyle that would allow me to pass as a man with a bit of help from some sculpting gel and pass as a woman after my short time of masquerading as Dr. Crane was over.

Eventually, I held my hair in a tight grip and carefully chopped off uneven clumps. From there, I attempted to even out my crude cutting but soon gave up the hopeless endeavor with a huff of dissatisfaction. Thankfully the odd ends and uneven length was hidden by careful efforts with hair gel.

However then came the challenge of binding my chest.

Despite my uncertainty, I reminded myself that this was no different than my years of cosplay with Sable. I desperately missed my close friend but figured it was best that we lost contact for I doubted that she would be overjoyed to learn her best friend had been committed to Arkham.

Maybe, if we didn't lose contact things would have been different...but that wasn't important now.

And so, I managed just fine after countless, tiring efforts to successfully and _tightly_ bind my chest with the ace bandages. Of course, the effort would have been a great deal easier if someone else was able to help but if a certain _someone_ was here then there would be no need to go to these absurd yet thrilling lengths.

Truthfully, I enjoyed the idea of parading around as Dr. Crane. The ability to mock him was terribly amusing and often I found myself making silly expressions in the mirror, pretending that it was actually Dr. Crane who was making a fool of himself.

Yet sadly, my joyful pastime paled as I began to attempt a 'Dr. Crane-esque' persona. It was difficult to hold a stern or smug expression for long without dissolving into a fit of laughter—Made even more intense by the consequential sight of Dr. Crane 'giggling'.

Yet as the hour grew later, I knew I would have to hail a cab and journey to the Lux Atlantic to either fill a reservation or simply buy out a room since Dr. Crane never specified what would be awaiting us.

So determined to make the perfect impression of Dr. Crane, I practiced all the mannerisms I could think of: raised eyebrow(s), smirk, pushing up glasses, glare, and so forth. Yet my results were pitiful at best.

Undeterred, I practiced casual motions such as walking (while silently enjoying the sensation of smooth legs against the soft material of the suit), adjusting the buttons of the suit, tying a tie, causally placing my hands in my pockets—Before realizing that the suit's pockets were sewn shut and the pockets of the pants were unusable due to the height I was forced to pull them up and secure with a belt in order to not trip over the pool of fabric at my feet.

In the end, irkingly enough, I found that despite all my thoughts of being composed and impartial, I was indisputably feminine from the suave movement of my hands to the manner in which I stood.

Glaring into the mirror's reflection with contempt, my heart fluttered causing me to jump with enthusiasm and smile victoriously—Thoroughly ruining the perfect look which was entirely 'Dr. Crane-esque'.

Hmmm...Perhaps then it was my mindset?

I closed my eyes and took a steadying breath before collecting my thoughts.

I was Dr. Crane, the esteemed psychiatrist and brilliant chemist. I saw everyone with contempt for everyone was inferior to me. I had an ego so large it was a wonder my head didn't explode. I was a cold, focused individual who lacked compassion and mercy. Everyone was below me, merely test subjects I had yet to utilize. No one could understand me for I allowed no one close enough to try. I was cold. I was untouchable. I was Dr. Crane.

I opened my eyes and viewed their cold, apathetic and slightly narrowed expression.

That's right, I was dangerous. I held your worst fears in a vial of chemical perfection.

I squared my shoulders (seemingly broader by the angle of the shoulder pads) and cleared my throat before cocking my head, "I am Dr. Crane—"

My eyes widened as I realized no matter my expression, wardrobe, or mannerisms my lightly toned voice would give me away in an instant.

Raging frustration rose as I tried to calm myself.

Why was it _so_ difficult to impersonate a single man?!

Exhaling angrily, I attempted speaking in a lower tone, "I am—"

I cut myself off as the unmistakably false voice was almost worse than my actual tone.

Come on...Think of Dr. Crane's voice: low, slightly raspy in a husky sort of way, smooth like running water, and at times cold enough to freeze my heart.

Once more I spoke, "I am Dr. Crane—"

No, it merely sounded as though I had a slight cold...

"I am Dr. Crane..."

Hmm...The quiet rasp could pass for male.

I continued in the same tone, "As you can see the product has an unrivaled effect—"

I smiled triumphantly.

It seemed while talking in a slightly scratchy monotone, I was able to almost attain his tone of voice.

Yet my smile faded as I noted the late—Or rather _early_ hour of two in the morning.

Three days...

As I gathered our luggage and managed to check out of the hotel, hail a cab, and fill the reservation at the Lux Atlantic, I could not rid myself of my persistent worrying.

Where were you Dr. Crane?

...

Breathe Revis...Just breathe.

Despite my inner anxiety not a flicker of worry crossed my confident expression. Walking down the brightly lit hallways decorated to an extreme degree of wasted money, I felt the power of male authority which accompanied the feel of _his_ suit and briefcase as well as the respectful nods I received upon passing the many floors to the reserved room where the first meeting would be conducted.

Briefly I paused outside the grand door probably twenty feet high and ten feet wide, a wasteful expanse of crème' wood which acted as the curtain to my performance.

Breathe Revis...Just breathe.

False confidence and nerves propelled me through the large door where a table half full of men in business suits waited while talking amongst themselves.

This was it...

I opened my mouth to speak but a man with a crooked nose and blonde hair slicked back rushed toward me before taking my hand in a hearty handshake, "Ah Dr. Crane," his European accent blurred the syllables of 'Crane', "I am most pleased that you are able to join us. I am the host and benefactor of the evening, Monsieur Merrick. I trust your journey was pleasant?"

Great...A Frenchman.

I clenched my jaw as his grip tightened in a challenge, no longer shaking mine but refusing to let go. I gripped back with equal strength before replying in my scratchy monotone, "Yes, thank you for your concern, Monsieur Merrick. I hope you find today's presentation _most_ enlightening."

We both drew our hands back as he seated himself at the head of the table before gesturing to me with a grand sweep of his arm, "The floor is _yours_. I'm sure we're all eager to hear of your famed potions."

Great...An egotistical, dramatic Frenchman.

There was a slight murmur which quickly died down as the room of nameless men of all shapes and ethnicities stared back at me expectantly.

For a moment my mind was frozen by terror but before I had even realized it, my mouth was open and elegant words were spilling out with ease.

"Thank you for your kind introduction..." a tight smile here, "Now, let us be honest. There is only one reason all of you are here and that reason is _power_. Power has brought you here and your power will grow after your time spent in this room.

'Yet what is power? Well, power is seen by many forms," a few hand motions there, "money, gold, women," pause for a few chuckles, " but in order to gain and maintain that power one only need a very simple yet very effective, very _potent_ tool: fear.

'Of course, fear isn't too hard to instill in others if one has the appropriate utensils and time in which to," now a joking head tilt and eyebrow raising combination, " 'devote' to this task yet now fear is available for a price I believe you will all find agreeable."

I paused in order to open the briefcase and reveal a small, copper stopped vial, "This vial holds enough toxin to condemn fifteen men to a state of unparalleled delirium, plagued by both visual and auditorial hallucinations as well as an array of other physical symptoms including spasms, high fever, nausea, rash, and so forth—"

"What is the price of that bottle?" a gruff man with a large, black beard asked.

I raised an eyebrow, "350$"

Laughter rang out as the black bearded man retorted, "For that bitty thing?"

I nodded, "It's potency is _well_ worth its value as the effects can last for days."

He snorted, causing me to narrow my eyes, "Perhaps _you_ would like to sample it?"

A slight chuckle drew my attention to Monsieur Merrick, "With those_ mains féminines?_ Please my men, help the good doctor out!"

There was a short peal of laughter as I steeled my gaze and moved on.

I didn't need to know French, a language derived from Latin, to know that _'__mains féminines__' _was no different than '_feminium manus'_.

Despite the short interlude, the bearded man scowled, his brown eyes glittering dangerously, "My man, Samuel, will test it."

The man next to him, a well-muscled man with various tattoos peeking out from his collar, stood and walked to me seizing me up with narrowed eyes, "Give me yer worst, Doc'. "

I calmly blinked before motioning for him to sit. He reluctantly did so, allowing me to reach for the restraints in the briefcase.

The bearded man stood in outrage, "What do you think you're doin'?!"

I smiled coldly, "Unless you would rather he attack all of _you_ in a fit of paranoia, I suggest—"

"Now, now Flynn, let the good doctor show us his techniques," Monsieur Merrick smiled at me, his eyes attempting to crack my blank expression.

Clearing my throat, I then tightened the bindings around him until he was securely fastened to the chair.

The man, Samuel, fixed me with a dirty look but didn't seem the least bit nervous, "Come on little man, give me your 'poison'."

I smirked, "With pleasure..."

Next, I uncapped the vial before tipping it to his mouth and allowing only three drops to hit his tongue.

He grunted at the taste but said nothing as his eyes became dilated and sweat beaded at his forehead.

A few men within the table paid express attention to him, even going so far as to shuffle forward for a better view—All but Monsieur Merrick who didn't take his eyes off of me.

First there was moaning, then spitting, but before long the man was screaming, his face bright red as his veins popped out and strained against his skin. He hissed and writhed, growling and howling without reserve as his worst nightmares now haunted him.

His shrieking grew and grew until he rocked himself to the floor where he began to fall into a greater panic as the new sensations bombarded him.

Easing my eyes over, I gave the now wide eyed, black bearded man a mocking smile, "Convinced?"

The man rubbed his beard before barking hoarsely, "And the antidote?"

My face grew blank once more, "The antidote is _not_ for sale."

He chuckled yet rubbed his beard faster, "Of course, of course...but how about you shut him up. I can't have him hollern' all night!"

I paused, prolonging his discomfort before reaching into the briefcase to emerge with a syringe. I carefully approached Samuel before kneeling down and injecting him with the serum.

Another man, faintly yellow as if his skin rarely saw daylight, asked, "Is that the antidote?"

Once Samuel fell silent I retrieved the restraints and stood, walking back to the table, "No, that was merely a strong sedative—"

"What am I supposed to do with him?!" the black bearded man exclaimed.

I narrowed my eyes slightly, "What you do with your men is no concern of mine."

"Ah but 'Doctor', "Monsieur Merrick smoothly interjected, "Is that the only form of your medicine?"

His suave smile was too bright for my liking.

"No, a variety of my toxins come in serums, pills, powders, and gasses, each priced respectively."

"How much for the pills?" the yellow man asked.

Unblinkingly, I answered, "1,650$ in units of ten."

His jaw dropped while the others scoffed, "B-But the serum was a mere fraction of the price!"

I shook my head, "I believe you are confused. The vial held a liquid form suitable for slipping into drinks whereas the serum is 750$."

A man with dark skin and a multitude of scars smiled greasily, "You drive a hard bargain but I like it...Tell you what, I'll buy 120 of those pills."

Smoothly I responded, "All business transactions will be made at the end of the two day meeting. Now, if there are any other questions?"

Most were silent but Monsieur Merrick leaned forward as if he was about to share a great secret, "I believe you have answered all our questions, Doctor. So I shall close this meeting—I look forward to your presentation tomorrow. I truly wonder how you will 'wow' us then..."

I smiled smugly, "You shall have to wait and see."

The room was then thrown into a fury of 'business' men rising and socializing amongst themselves while giving me a wide breadth as if my very presence was toxic.

Good.

Yet I focused on closing my briefcase and making an exit of my own, hardly believing I had successfully impersonated Dr. Crane in front of a multitude of dangerous, elite crooks without a hitch.

Unwilling to linger in the disgusting displays of wealth and spoiled glamour, I quickly yet calmly made my way back across the twisting corridors past grand pillars, exotic art, lush plants, and expense decor.

Only two hallways left.

Breathe Revis...Breathe.

"Oh Dr. Crane?" the unmistakable accent of the sun kissed Frenchman sent chills down my spine.

I paused before turning around to view the well-dressed man, "I thoroughly enjoyed your presentation yet I believe it was rumored that you travelled with an, ah, _woman_ assistant, is that correct?"

My blood ran cold.

"What is the presence of a mere assistant to a man of your standing, Monsieur?"

He shrugged nonchalantly before placing his hands into the pockets of his pants and elegantly leaning against the wall, "Yet it seems such a shame to miss out on a beautiful face, eh? Although I hear she's quite a handful," he chuckled as I clenched the handle of the briefcase tighter while forcing my free hand to remain relaxed.

Kicking off the wall, he neared me predatorily, "Nevermind that...How about you join me for a few drinks, hm?"

I opened my mouth to politely decline when he stepped even closer forcing me to look up slightly, "I like to become _intimately_ acquainted with my choice of business partners, 'Dr. Crane'. I assure you we could benefit from a few hours of conversation."

I didn't like the way he pronounced 'my' name. It sounded almost as if he was..._mocking_ me.

"I'm afraid I will have decline, Monsieur. There is still _much_ to prepare for tomorrow's presentation."

He took a step back, "Ah yes...Your new drug, 'Thrill', I believe it is called?"

I responded with a tight smile to mask my cold dread...

Dr. Crane never spoke of a toxin called 'Thrill' nor was it present in any of his notes.

He paused, mirth dancing in his forest green eyes as if he was silently counting the time it would take before I fell into some prearranged trap. Yet when I only fixed him with a cold look, he smiled, a mocking faux 'disappointed' smile, before he continued, "Ah...Well, I suppose I shall have to wait for tomorrow then..."

I nodded, "Indeed. Now, if you'll excuse me—"

As I was turning to leave, his arm suddenly shot out in front of me so as to block my passage, "I find it very curious, Doctor, that your famed eyes, so clear and piercing with their light blue shade are a bit...'murky' today. It is strange, no?"

I swallowed, "Perhaps it is the lighting—"

He swiftly moved forward in order to grab my chin and force my head up. Instantly, my free hand rose in defense but he harshly pinned my hand against the wall.

Leaning in closer he smiled, lessening his scrutiny, "Ah, now I see it. Such a pretty, pale colour...Yet that streak of gold is quite odd...Isn't it, 'Dr. Crane'?"

I glared, my heart racing as I struggled to not blush—

He chuckled before releasing me, "So your _mains féminines_ are not the only _délicate_ thing about you...that blush is _most_ fetching."

Once more I repeated myself, struggling to maintain my raspy monotone, "If you'll excuse me, Monsieur?"

His face fell as if I had deprived him of a great pleasure, "Of course, 'Dr. Crane', of course."

Under his lecherous gaze, I walked stiffly to my room, fighting panic every step of the way.

Damn that man, Merrick!

After all my hard work he had to go and jeopardize everything! Why wasn't Dr. Crane here to deal with his insinuations and violating acts?!—

No, I will _not_ let him ruin this meeting...No matter what will happen, I _cannot_ allow him to once more gain leverage over me.

I could not fail this...If not for Dr. Crane's sake then for my own.


	56. Chapter 26: Punishment

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers for rocking my week ^-^ **

**WARNING****: This chapter contains explicit content-but hey, it's Valentines Day!**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 26<strong>

Finally my hotel room was within sight.

Barely restraining myself from racing to the smooth wood, I hurriedly scanned my key card which I retrieved from an inner pocket of my suit before quickly opening and shutting the door.

Breathing heavily in relief with closed eyes, I struggled to gather my wits.

Damn that man, Merrick! Damn Dr. Crane!

Upon opening my eyes, I stepped forward to deposit the briefcase atop the side table. Turning, I began unbuttoning my—or rather, Dr. Crane's—suit jacket before sliding it off my shoulders as my eyes slid across the room—

Dr. Crane?!

Frozen in place, I was so deeply shocked it took me a moment to find my breath amid the stutter of my heart. Numbly, I drank in the sight of my missing doctor.

His light blue, button up shirt was loosely rolled up to his elbow while the collar was bare of a tie in favour of unbuttoning the first three buttons. His hand was loosely cupping a small, crystal glass filled with an amber liquid over ice. Whether he was simply lacking glasses or wearing contacts, I didn't know but without the hindrance of his clear rimmed glasses, his ice like eyes stabbed me over and over without remorse.

I opened my mouth before quickly closing it.

What does someone say in this sort of situation?

So instead of speaking, I placed the suit atop my shoulders again before allowing my hands to drop uselessly at my side.

Timidly, I raised my eyes at his furious yet calculating gaze, "Dr. Crane..."

My voice lost its false monotone as my weak, light voice sounded.

Without a word, he rose from the chair and stormed toward me before roughly pushing me against the door.

My head smacked against the thick wood causing me to lose my breath as pain bloomed under the point of impact. He then dug his nails into my padded shoulders, "Revis..." he growled, "What have you done?"

One hand released its iron grip in order to lock the door I had forgotten to secure upon my entry—How had he gotten in here?

Yet as the dead bolt sounded with a solid **thump** a pang of fear shot through my heart with unrelenting spasms of panic.

He was back...and my throbbing head attested to the fact he was _very_ angry—No, livid.

"I...You weren't...I didn't think—"

Snarling, he lifted me from the door only to slam me back against it, "That's right, Revis," he pulled me up again but this time flung me toward the foot of the bed, "You _weren't_ thinking."

Rough hands grasped the shoulders of my suit before ripping it away from my body.

A hand wove around my shoulders to firmly grasp the fabric of _his_ dark and light blue striped tie. I could hardly comprehend his actions as he whipped me around and jerked my face closer to his furious one, holding the tie like a leash, "You _always_ act without _any_ regard to the consequences," my glasses slipped forward onto my nose as he pulled the tie tighter, forcing me even closer, "Did you ever stop to think of what would happen if someone figured it out?"

"I—" my cracking retort was silenced as he grabbed my collar and yanked it apart, scattering buttons everywhere while he continued.

"This, _THIS_ is not some fool-proof disguise," his voice was low and threatening, "Did you not contemplate what would befall you if someone discovered your _true_ identity?"

I shivered under his gaze and the truth of his words but sought to placate him as I placed my shaking hands atop his forearms, "Please Dr. Crane, no one knew. Really, everything went well—They want to buy your products—"

He once more gripped my shoulder in a tight vice as he spun me around once more so I stumbled, reaching out to the bed for balance.

"Of course, they want my products! _You_ had nothing to do with it—" he caught my stumbling form with the shirt as he continued to tear at it until it hung uselessly around my elbows.

Shaking badly, my hands automatically raised to cover my chest—Or rather, the ace bandages keeping my chest tightly bound.

He shifted his weight so he was pressed up against my back, his broad shoulders caging me in as he unraveled the tie, allowing it to slither down my flushed body in a sensual, terrifying touch.

"You are a woman, Revis—" he paused, his hands travelling up my arms, raising gooseflesh in his wake before they overlapped mine, prying away my trembling fingers so he was able to unclip the end of the bandages, "Perhaps you need reminding of your place?"

I let out a breathy cry, tears blurring the image of the expensive hotel room as I struggled to comprehend everything.

Yet he 'soothed' me by sharply nipping along my neck causing me to let out a choked moan as a tear rolled down my face and onto his hand's violating touch.

"Shh..." he shushed me while more bandages unraveled, "Remember you are mortal, Revis."

The bandages fell away entirely but before I could raise my arms to cover myself, he pulled against my biceps restraining, tightening his grip viciously as a warning. Next, his hands trailed down my arm, tugging the resistant fabric away from my arms, down my hands, then onto the floor.

Burning fingers crawled up my hips, thankfully clothed by the too high pants before meeting bare skin and climbing until he cupped my breasts.

Unwillingly, my nipples hardened at his touch causing my face to burn with shame. Yet his dark chuckle distracted me.

"How amusing," he pinched and twisted the hardened flesh as I moaned, my knees buckling slightly, forcing me further into his embrace, "To think that 'Death' would bear such a capacity for pleasures of the living..."

"P-Please Dr. Crane, stop..."

His hands paused.

"Stop?" he echoed, his breath smelling of alcohol raising the hairs on the back of my neck.

A small whimper escaped me.

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen! He was supposed to appear either before or after my time masquerading as him, not during—

I trembled as he spun me around, pressing me tightly against his chest. I met his eyes with a strength I knew I did not possess.

"Please Dr. Crane, you weren't there. I had no choice—"

Faster than lightning, his eyes flashed with a faint warning before his hands tore the belt from its loops, causing the pants to fall, only impeded by his hips pressing painfully into mine, "That's right, Revis. You _have_ no choice for you abide by _my_ rules—"

I cut him off, "You would have missed the meeting!"

My hand slowly raised to gently cup his cheek, "Don't you see, Dr. Crane, I did this _for_ you."

He raised a hand from its firm pressure on my back and cruelly grasped my wrist, tightening until I winced and lowered my head, tears falling onto my breasts as I gasped for breath. Twisting sharply so that my face upturned with an expression of pain, he threw me to the bed's edge before swiftly joining me as I struggled to stay upright from both the momentum and the loose pants.

"I _sent_ word of my slight impediment," his voice frightened me with the great amount of passion his words possessed as he spread his hands along my back, pushing me down until I was bent over before him.

His shadow fell over me, "If you had waited," I struggled to rise yet with a forceful hand against my back, seething with the unrestrained fury he felt, I could not overcome him, "None of this would have happened!"

Breathlessly, I tried to think of a way to calm him as I was forced to stare at my necklace, the crow dangling in a mockery of all the wonderful memories we had shared just four days ago.

I felt more than heard a scuffle behind me before the bare skin of his chest met the bare skin of my back.

I froze, my breath catching as he ran his hands over me with a heavy, dominating sensation.

Before I had thought he would only berate me and leave me in a pile of clothes, humiliated, but now...

I jumped as I felt his mouth against my back, sharp bites replacing the sweet kisses he had once showered upon my scars. Of course, there were scars along my back, the awkward, self-inflicted markings were hardly worth the bother but it seemed he found them worth his punishing notice.

"So many scars...One would think there was some great purpose for their presence rather than believe they're simply evidence of an unstable madwoman."

I gasped as his words pierced my heart with an agonizing burn.

He trailed his harsh teeth along my back, "Tell me..." he neared my neck as his hands travelled around my back and onto my stomach before once more groping my breasts, "...which of these..." he bit sharply, teeth digging into my pulse, "...did Lucius drink from?"

Inhaling sharply, I turned to attack him when I found both my wrists in his hands as he forced me down upon the bed, his normally hidden muscles flexing as he held me down with both his hands and his hips.

Heart racing, breath erratic, the fury of hell in my rushing through my veins, I struggled against his touch uncaring of his rebuttal or the manner in which my erect nipples would brush across his skin inciting bursts of misplaced lust. Somehow amid my efforts his grip shifted allowing me to squirm free of his hold as I scurried up the bed simultaneously ridding me of the already loose pants.

"Foolish, foolish Revis."

His hands caught my ankle on one leg and my bare calf on the other. Pulling me back, I fell to the mattress before he flipped me over so I was lying supine once more.

Chilling eyes pinned me to the spot as his tyrannical touch parted my legs, a hand slithering along my skin while the other rested against the bed for support as his raw energy lashed me over with agonizing streaks of hatred.

Where was the endearment I felt just four days ago?

"Don't touch me," my teary eyes blurred but I forced the pain away in order to give life to the embers of outrage.

Smoothly, he slid his body along mine, a clothed knee falling between my legs as his once roving hand took residence on my shoulder, fingering the stab wound from that mad hair stylist in Arkham.

"Oh, are you afraid to face the consequence of your actions?" his eyes were mocking, his words piercing.

"If you feel anything for me then _please _stop—"

He scoffed, shifting once more so he straddled me, the lean muscles of his arms moving fluidly as he rested himself on his elbows on either side of my head, "I suppose then I have no reason to not continue."

Ice washed over me only to be replaced by suffocating panic as he forced his mouth upon mine, tearing apart his previous sweet deeds with every bruising touch.

Even so, I found it near impossible to not respond. Perhaps he did not love me, my actions most likely ruined whatever feelings he had that night, but I could not turn away from his touch for no matter the rotting pain of his hatred, I was able to feel his rising lust. Lust not love but at least it was real.

So while I pressed up against him, my hands feeling along his chest, lightly scratching so as to bring gooseflesh to _his_ skin, I tried not to pay attention to the decaying loathing and rampant lust coursing through him.

_Never should have_—_How could I have confused them_—_Only _Revis_ was capable_—_Punishment_—_Desire_—

Ignoring the faint snatches of his thoughts in favour of wrapping my arms through his to grasp his back, I felt his skin move as I broke the kiss to shower affections along his neck and shoulder.

I felt a streak of shock as he paused unsure what to do in light of my advances but before he could decide whether to push me away or pull me closer, I bucked my hips and flipped us over so I was perched atop _him_.

"Lust..." I kissed along his body, worshiping every pale inch of living skin, "...like fear, is merely a chemical reaction," I nuzzled his neck before hovering over him, staring into his eyes with unrestrained passion while I placed a supporting hand over his racing heart, "...but make no mistake that your heart belongs to me."

His eyes narrowed yet before I could decode the look, his left leg raised in between mine, rubbing sensually against the already damp fabric of my underwear. Unwillingly, I moaned, my eyes fluttering shut as my arms shook with the strain of holding myself up.

I slumped over in defeat as he continued to move his leg against me. It was a struggle to not lose myself to his advances.

"Do you truly believe that?" he grasped my arms tightly causing my eyes to flash open, "Are you so convinced I'll eventually fall in love with _you_?"

Wide eyed, I trembled from both fear and lust.

His fingers slithered up my arms, his touch stealing my strength with every throb of his dangerous, disastrous energy, "Did you imagine us holding hands," he sneered as my arms shook even more, "or going out on dates?" his demolishing touch reached my shoulders, "Perhaps a frequent use of endearments or late nights spent confiding in one another?" his hands wrapped around my throat loosely as I stared disbelievingly into his blue, torturous eyes, "Did you, Revis?"

I shook my head, feeling stabs of fear and arousal as his fingers consequently rubbed against my throat in an enticing threat, "N-No."

He smiled sinisterly, "Good."

I coughed lightly once I felt his hands tighten but even as I struggled to ease the vice around my wheezing windpipe with my hands, I felt _his_ arousal grow.

The more I twisted atop him, grinding into his clothed member as I fought to breathe, the tighter his grip became. The pressure on my temples raised to such a level I ducked my head, barely breathing as my skull became too heavy to lift and my fingers too weak to rip away his crushing grip. Numbed to my surroundings, I was only dimly aware of my fumbling fingers and my rising shame for the wanton pleasure I felt at his punishing abuse.

I knew it was wrong, so dangerous and stupid, to _enjoy_ his torture, but such power dominating my body, restricting my breath, bringing me close to the edge of death sensually...there was no denying that I was enthralled.

Abuse me, Dr. Crane.

Torture me with those beautiful, sinister touches and cruel words—Anything to keep you by my side, anything to carve a hole in your heart so that I may find a way in before you're aware of my presence.

Conquer me, Dr. Crane.

Poison me with your toxins and mindgames. I want your love, some real attachment binding _you_ to _me_. I'll suffer for you, if only to capture your heart.

My head ached with a building pressure, imbedding a violent headache in my oxygen deprived brain. Yet we both knew the _true_ effects of his actions as I continued to grind against him, no longer under the presence of struggling. My skin was on fire, burning away every inhabitation and restriction until I lost myself to him.

Take me, Dr. Crane.

Take me into the depths of your sadism and let me prove my worth and resilience.

My thoughts began to scatter when I felt a cool breeze along my sore throat. Yet I lacked the energy to understand the sensation. Instead, I noted how I was collapsed atop him. The pain from my head was gone yet a deep, nulling ache kept any thoughts at bay.

I began to breathe anew, still too weakened to protest as he soothingly,_ mockingly_, rubbed my back, "I knew your streak of masochism ran deep—How else would you continue to love me after my frequent punishing rebuttals?—but this?" a deep chuckle sounded distantly, "Are you so foolish as to entrust me with your life as well as your heart?"

I gave a wheezing cough as my sore throat was stabbed with fresh air.

We both knew my answer was present in my flushed body and the heat of my decadent delight as my sex was pressed against his, no doubt marking his too tight pants with a wet stain exclaiming just how much I enjoyed his suffocating touch.

Easily switching our positions, he laid me against the covers of the bed as he fumbled with his belt and pants. Distantly, I heard him sigh in relief as he freed himself from his cumbersome restraints but my attention was too scattered to think clearly. And so, I stared at the wall nearest to the bed, slowly regaining my dizzy bearings.

I was so relaxed...I wish we could just stay in this warm, private bubble forever. He did not love me but he would, I would make sure he did. Already he felt lust and possessiveness, he was concerned for my safety and entrusted me with his work. Surely his love would follow.

"Revis..."

Blinking, I turned drowsily to face him, about to question his statement when I felt his length against my stomach.

My lust curdled into a black crisp until pure fear remained.

Weakly I struggled to turn onto my side but he only took this as incentive to rid me of the last remaining barrier separating our skin.

No, not again...Please, not this.

He wrestled me into the bed, parting my twisting legs.

Please, stop. Don't do this.

His hand roamed along my body, across my stomach, following the curve of my hip before dipping in between my legs, running a sly finger against my slit.

I hissed in pleasure which marred the fear but did not extinguish it. I was taken aback by his initiative as he bypassed the outer boundary of my sex and caressed the hot, wet interior, smearing my juices along his hand.

I gasped, latching onto him, curving my body around his as he teasingly rubbed my clit. An embarrassing cry escaped me as he continued to tease and fondle the sensitive bundle of nerves.

I knew he was smirking. I could even feel his prideful energy conquer me over and over as he no doubt gloated internally, praising himself on his expert manipulations of both mind and body.

Yet amid his sensual distraction, he was slowly aligning his cock against my wet center—No matter his discretion, the moment I felt his hardened flesh nudge into me I collapsed against the bed, my head lolling to the side as my vision blurred.

Think of the snow, soft and light, barely substantial but bountiful as the world was covered in the small tuffs of crystalized water.

From a great distance my name was called and my head forcibly turned so I was faced upright, unseeing—

No, think of the snow, filling the air with a palpable thrill of delight as the frosted chill submerged the world in an icy cocoon.

Somewhere far away my shoulders were being moved as someone tried to rouse me from my frosted lullaby.

How foolish...I had no time for harsh reality.

Think of the—

"Revis."

Bolts of fear electrocuted me as I was ripped away from my mind and deposited atop a bed in an expensive hotel by the harsh backhand to my burning cheek.

"You cannot escape me, Revis."

I shot upright—Or so I tried but hands forced me down.

Hands. Rough hands. Destroying hands. **Defiling** hands.

Near hyperventilating, I whimpered and shook fiercely, trying to draw myself up protectively—I was too exposed, too vulnerable.

"Aww, are you scared?" he asked with a cruel mockery.

My panicked eyes met his blue ones while I struggled to control myself.

"Here, let me hold your hand."

His hand tightly intertwined with mine, forcing it into the mattress while my other hand struggled vainly to push him away.

"Oh, did you think you would enjoy this? Remember Revis," he lowered his head to my turned, reddened cheek whispering, "this is your punishment."

Once more I felt his stiff cock against my center, threatening to fulfill his threat yet I closed my eyes tightly, refusing to acknowledge—

His other hand wrenched my face to look into his while digging his nails into my cheeks. I whimpered, tears falling on either side of my eyes.

"Shhh..." he shushed me, "Keep your eyes open. I want you to look at me when I rip your little fantasy of 'love' to pieces."

"Please," the strangled plea barely escaped my lips before he thrust into me.

I gasped sharply, breathing roughly as he rested inside me, his hatred pouring out, smothering me in layers of humiliation and defeat, "Can you feel it, Revis?" his nails dug in harshly, "Is there the slightest hint of 'love' here?"

Before I could respond he pulled out only to thrust in once more, painfully stretching my tight walls with his girth.

This was wrong. It wasn't supposed to happen like this!

Yet I laid there, one hand crushed into the bed by his while the other useless pulled against the wrist that painfully gripped my face as he use my body for his sick lesson.

"So..." he paused to thrust into my again, "...foolish."

Despite the pain both external and internal, I found myself responding to his rape. From the subtle rocking of my hips to the choked moans, I betrayed myself—This, of course, did not escape his notice.

His iron grip on my cheeks faded as he stroked them tenderly, slowing his movements until he was almost entirely still, "How shameful, Revis. Even now you yearn for my touch."

He breathed along my neck, inciting more of that damned lust as he pulled out completely, leaving me feeling empty and cold, "Tell me, Revis," he paused to nip at my breasts, suckling the sensitive skin as his free hand violated my ribs and hips in strong strokes like a pendulum swinging back and forth, each time bringing my demise closer, "Did you enjoy Lucius' touch as well?"

My breath left me as pain flared in my chest, constricting with anxiety.

Uncaring of his reaction, I twisted myself over and despite my trapped hand, I attempted to flee. Yet I wasn't too surprised when his free hand encircled my waist as he too raised himself to his knees while lifting my imprisoned hand in the air before shoving me forward so that my left hand slammed into the wall while my right caught the headboard.

Panting, I tried to shake him off as his left hand slid against my slick skin before cupping my sex, his fingers violating me with deep pumps while his thumb rubbed my clit mercilessly. Shivering from the overwhelming sensations of his enticing yet enraging touches, I leaned against his right bicep as it was crossed in front of me in order to hold my left hand securely.

"So lustful, Revis...Moaning like a madwoman at the touch of your psychiatrist. Tsk, tsk. I had no idea you were so base," he twisted his fingers in further causing me to lean into his poisonous touch, "so _human_."

No matter his biting words, I could only drown in the consuming pleasure he provided.

I whimpered in protest, shamefully, embarrassingly, missing the feeling of being filled. Yet (thankfully) instead of crying out, I merely grasped the headboard tightly while my other hand returned his tight hold as his fingers pressed and rolled the bundle of nerves. So overcome by pleasure, I screamed when he redoubled his efforts, this time biting my neck harshly before retreating, dragging his wet fingers across my stomach in order to twist my nipples sharply.

"Dr. Crane…" I begged, uncertain if I was asking for more or pleading for him to stop.

He chuckled, the sound raising the hairs on my neck as he brushed his closed lips over my shoulder blades, "Are you now begging for your punishment? So whorish of you, Revis."

Burning with shame and desire, I pressed against him wantonly as my words contradicted my actions.

"I'm not a whore," I hissed in between deep breaths—

Yet I was only met with a knowing chuckle and a rough bite to my shoulder which soon dissolved my protests.

I didn't care anymore—Take me Dr. Crane, bend and break me until you're satisfied.

And indeed he did take me for hardly a second had passed before he directed his slightly softened member back to the tight warmth it had been expelled from.

Once more my breath caught as the new position brought him deeper, pressing against me with frenzied thrusts that spread an aching delight through my feverish body.

I felt the droplets of his sweat hit my back as he drove himself into me harshly with such delicious force I could barely move away before his cock claimed me as his.

Our hands slid against the wall in rhythm with our movements, our bodies met with lustful moments of heated contact before pulling apart so as to allow cool air to fill the space between us before it was banished again.

Over and over, each thrust rougher than the last, I was soon crying out for his hand had returned to my clit, stimulating me from the outside as well.

"Scream for me, Revis," he grunted before redoubling his efforts while removing his hand from mine to wrap it around my throat, once more choking me.

As my air grew scarce and my head tight, my pleasure mounted, each rough motion building and building until—

I screamed.

Letting out my reserve of air, I screamed until my throat was hoarse and entirely bare of oxygen. Bonelessly, I fell against him, completely exhausted as the after waves of pleasure wracked my body, even reaching my internal muscles which in turn squeezed and pumped his member until he tightened the painfully pleasurable grip on my throat, thrusting without abandon before he buried himself inside me, filling me with a warm gush of his seed and allowing me to breathe again.

I felt so tired yet so warm...

I fell against him yet he merely pushed me aside before joining me atop the bed, both of us out of breath and drained of energy.

Punishment or pleasure, I could hardly decide which I had received tonight yet I would gladly accept either if it meant Dr. Crane would always stay with me because no matter how much he would deny it, I felt _something_ in his heart that wasn't love but certainly was _not_ hatred.


	57. Chapter 27: Preparations

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers for your wonderful feedback!**

**Next I would like to once more thank PurgatoryNymphe' for her wonderful help in checking over the French used in this chapter and future chapters-thank you! **

**Once more **I**** do not mean any offense to the French people or French language I'm merely poking fun at the stereotype of dramatic French people and as you all will see his actions are an act that he exaggerates. Please do not think that I'm discriminating against a race of people or their language, Merrick is really an interesting character with hidden depths that will be revealed later on.****

****Translations: _'mains féminines_' = feminine hands ; ' _ennuyeuse_' = '_tedious' ; '_douce petite assistante_' = _'sweet, little assitant'****

****Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!****

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 27<strong>

Most women dream of waking next to the man they love on the morning after sex, so as to either cuddle in a sleepy haze or perhaps initiate another round of love making but I doubted that many women awake to the bitter voice of their psychiatrist and a towel thrown over their naked body with instructions to 'clean up'. Then again, most women couldn't survive loving or living with a man like Dr. Crane.

So I groggily sat up, pressing the towel against my sore body as I struggled to focus on anything other than how appealing the aspect of sleep felt.

"You don't have much time to get ready for the presentation today," Dr. Crane prompted me.

Wrapping the towel around my body while paling slightly at the disgustingly familiar sight of dried semen and blood on my inner thigh, I asked, "Well since you're here there's no need for me to...ah, 'fill in' for you."

He scoffed, "Then how am I to explain the fact that I am at least five inches taller than yesterday?"

My gaze lowered as the truth of his words sunk in. Very well, one more day wouldn't hurt.

I barely stood, ready to begin another day masquerading as Dr. Crane when a horrible pain doubled me over. My hand clenched the duvet of the bed as I tried to control the spasms of pain.

I felt more than saw him travel across the room at a leisurely pace before standing over me, entirely unconcerned, "Difficulties, Revis?" I stiffed a yell as the pain intensified as I straightened my back, "Surely you're not regretting the events of last night—After all that _delightful_ begging for punishment, I had thought you were able to handle the consequences."

I growled out, "I'm fine," then began walking again yet I had not stepped even two paces when a terrifying thought arose. Spinning around to face him, my head light and my knees weak, I croaked, "Last night...there wasn't any contraceptive!"

He laughed before fixing me with an amused look made even more infuriating by his pristine attire whereas I was an utter mess inside and out, "Oh, you don't have to worry about that."

I gaped at him, "This is serious! You can't just brush it off!"

He neared me, placing a tight grip on my shoulder, "You're infertile, Revis."

I froze, my mind churning at the impossible words he spoke but before I could argue otherwise he shoved me down so I was sitting atop the bed.

"You do realize that after _years_ spent ingesting my creations that you were willingly taking poison?"

I refused to meet his eyes as I dumbly stared at the carpet, "P-Poisons inciting _fear_: a simple chemical within the brain—"

He sighed boredly, "Not so. Did you believe there wouldn't be any side effects? Not only has the negative stimuli taken _years_ off your life but your insides are as toxic as a bottle of arsenic."

Years?

He continued, "Even when my test subjects were pregnant, within a day of ingesting my toxins they delivered stillborn babies that were premature by _months_."

I shook my head, "I've still had my monthly—"

He interrupted me, "Cycles? Of course, you're merely ridding the useless, unfertilized eggs from your ovaries. Yet your innards are unsuitable for life of any sort—As the instrument of death this no doubt pleases you?"

I opened my mouth, a small sound escaping as I tried to process the overwhelming information.

"This should come as a relief. We both know you would never become a fit mother," I looked up at him disbelievingly, "How can you raise a healthy child when you can barely maintain yourself? Not to mention the high chances you'd pass some of your instability off to your offspring."

"No—It was an environmental factor not a biological—"

He cut me off, "I've seen your bloodwork, Revis. Perhaps you were not borne with a mental illness but the potential was high. Then after the abuse and traumas you suffered, it's no surprise you became a madwoman."

I turned away as he neared me so as to stand beside me, "Even if you miraculously conceived a child, it would no doubt be severely deformed; a monster," he leaned in to whisper in my ear, "Just like its mother."

I shot out of bed, ignoring the crushing pain as I viewed him with a hurt expression as he neared me slowly, seeming entirely calm, "You're full of rot. It's written in your DNA and present in everything you do," he grasped both my shoulders, "Everything you touch, you ruin. Your mere presence is a pestilence and _nothing_ will change that."

"I-I—" I ripped myself away from his touch, hating his sharp words and his piercing gaze as he watched me rush to the bathroom.

"Oh and Revis?"

I paused, hating the way his calm voice had my skin crawling with revulsion yet before I could turn around he strode across the room and whipped me around him, slamming me into the wall by my sore throat.

"Good morning," he whispered, kissing me softly and briefly as I struggled to pull away his hand and keep my towel on my body. He paused a moment longer after he broke the kiss, his eyes as hard as steel viewing me like a puzzle that intrigued him then his hand was gone allowing me to dart into the bathroom under his predatory gaze.

No sooner than the door was closed and locked did I collapse on the floor, the plush towel falling uselessly around my trembling body.

_Infertile?_

I had never wanted children, always feared I would harm the child as Dr. Crane alluded toward yet to know I had lost the ability to bear children...I-I felt robbed.

Was I less of a woman now that I was infertile?

In truth, I would probably never have had children, my lifestyle wasn't healthy for _me_ let alone a baby but...to know that I was full of poison depressed me.

Was my blood toxic as well? My saliva?—I burned with shame upon knowing that wasn't true for Dr. Crane had yet to drop dead from kissing me and surely my other bodily fluids were safe as well considering his health after last night.

Last night...

No, I didn't have time to ponder what had occurred between us or Dr. Crane's sudden change of behavior. Instead, I had to once more masquerade as him.

I sighed before achingly lifting myself and the towel from the floor.

No matter the pleasures of that night, I sincerely regretted his rough treatment. Was the high of lust so clouding that I could pretend everything would be alright once we awoke? Our first kiss was anything but magical—So why would our first night together be any different? Nothing could break the icy spell cast over him…or the ill spell cast over me.

Stabilizing myself with the help of the marble counter, I glanced into the mirror and groaned.

This was the _last_ time I _ever_ went to bed with gelled hair.

Gingerly picking at the tuffs of wayward, stiff hair, I noted a light bruise across my cheek that would no doubt darken. Tentatively, I prodded the sensitive skin, hissing at the contact.

Damn him...

Looking into the mirror once more I noted my throat—

Gasping, I backed into the wall, tears blurring the horrific bruising encircling my throat in the blotched shape of _his_ hands.

Rubbing my eyes, I stepped closer to the mirror, taking in the brutalized skin: purple and red fighting for dominance and a sickly yellow around the edges of the marks...Then my eyes dropped to my shoulder, a large bite mark mirrored perfect indentations of his teeth while further down my arms and even my wrist bore droplets of blue, green bruises (no doubt a match to his fingertips), and in the center of this gruesome sight I noted the crow necklace: the symbol of his 'amends'.

Somehow, even through the years of mindgames and poison, it was at _this_ moment as I was able to see the damage _he_ inflicted on me and that instilled me with a heart racing, strength sapping, **fear** stronger than any of his toxins. _This_, this testimony of his 'endearments', scared me...

This wasn't love.

Numbly, I took off the necklace and placed it on the counter as I began to work the shower, thinking over the marks on my body.

This wasn't love.

So detached from my current situation, I began to wash myself while trying to ignore the vivid bruises among my aching body or the notice the dried blood and semen I harshly scrubbed away.

This wasn't love.

I dried myself off after turning off the water then stepped out onto the rug as I once more saw the terrible sight of my arms, the marks along my shoulders, then the ugly collar of brutality around my neck before I returned the crow necklace to its rightful place.

Whatever he felt for me...It wasn't love.

I styled my hair with the gel, taking time to ensure it would hold. Once I was sure I had done all I could in the large bathroom, I drew the towel around my body securely as if it were armor.

I left the bathroom intending to journey to Dr. Crane's suitcase and select a suit for the day. Yet when I entered the room, I was met with the sight of Dr. Crane nonchalantly sitting in a chair near a table in front of a mirror where a suit already prepared with ace bandages folded neatly atop of it all waited.

Stiffly, I walked to the table, my heart pounding as I drew nearer to him.

Even if he did not love me, I could not pretend that I felt nothing for him.

He stood, towering over me in such a manner I felt powerless in his wake.

Here he was...My tyrant, my love.

"Allow me," he murmured before ripping away the towel and catching my already bruised wrist as I raised my hand so as to strike him.

I winced at his touch.

"Do you need another lesson in obedience?"

I lowered my gaze, "No..."

He tightened his grip painfully before releasing it and guiding me to the table. I shivered, trying to be strong when I felt so small and insignificant...

I wanted nothing more than to dive into bed and never leave its safe cocoon for there was no use in living anymore. Not when my efforts were useless against him.

This was it, he won. He had my heart for years, twisted my mind for that time as well, but after last night...when he conquered my body—Well, he held every part of me and I still had nothing of his.

And so I allowed him to watch me in the reflection of the mirror as I dressed; I accepted his touch as he assisted me with the tedious task of binding my chest, all the while fighting myself for each even breath I took.

Oh how I wanted to burrow into his arms and rest so close to that heart I could not have. I yearned to seek comfort and domination from him. I wanted him to use me, hurt me, anything if it meant he would touch me in such a manner I could pretend—

There was no hope for it. After feeling his 'punishment' last night, I knew he would never again treat me so delicately with such reverence as he did just fou—five days ago.

Instead, I would have to live with his possessive touch as he unnecessarily smoothed out whatever article of clothing I accumulated if only to remind me with every burn from his hot, defiling hands that he was right all along...

He owned me.

Congratulations Dr. Crane, you won.

Suddenly my trance was broken as Dr. Crane's hands brushed across my aching, bruised throat hidden by the tight collar and pulled me into his embrace by my collarbone. Shocked, I looked into the mirror and saw his face, blank as always, "If you insist on wearing a tie, then at least tie it correctly."

My heart raced when his hands brushed across my bound and clothed chest, crossing the tie in smooth, practiced motions as his warm breath tickled the bare skin at the nape of my neck. Something about the action seemed gentle, apologetic almost, and I found a blush rising to my cheeks no matter how hard I tried to fight it. Of course, he saw this and smirked before tightening the tie and resting his hands atop my shoulders, mirroring the bruises below the thin shirt.

"The drug you're presenting today, Thrill, is a creation of mine I had left unmentioned in your studies for its irrelevance to the usual array of toxins," he tightened his grip causing me to wince before nodding in acknowledgement and meeting his eyes in the mirror.

"It came about in my earlier years of experimenting; a weak toxin which harness the pleasures of fear and adrenaline rather than exploiting it. It is unique in its chemistry for it cannot be strengthened to a poison nor can my other creations be diluted to match Thrill.

'There is a precise formula for the drug which I have kept separate from the data I allowed you to use as references since it is a recreational drug with a short duration rather than possessing the complexities of my other work. Today, you will advertise this drug and ask for a volunteer to test its effects—Depending on the dose, the drug will last anywhere from twenty minutes to two hours.

'Afterward, you are to make a roster of the products being sold while accepting the correct amount of money. The toxin's themselves will be sent to the individual's preferred address by my word so you do not need to worry about that.

'Do you understand?"

I nodded before attempting to slip out of his embrace when he spun me around and pressed me into the table's edge.

Bewildered, I waited for some explanation yet I only felt his creeping hand trail up my leg, my hip, around my waist before pulling us closer. My breathing hitched as his eyes, only marred by a faint line marking the presence of contacts, bore into mine. He leaned in closer as I stood mesmerized at his advancement, "You forgot your glasses," he said teasingly before depositing the black rimmed spectacles on my face.

"Y-Yea," I echoed, trying to leave when I found myself once more trapped.

I stared at the ground, uncaring if he hurt me—Why else would he keep me here?

"Look at me, Revis," he chided me softly before raising my chin, "I reviewed your work—The notes you made on my formulas."

I swallowed, "I was only trying to—"

He cut me off, his expression one of grudging respect, "It seems your lessons have paid off after all."

Was that a..._compliment_?!

"T-Thank you?" I replied, uncertain of his motives.

Yet he only stepped away from me, "You'll need to hurry if you plan on arriving on time."

"I—Of course," I murmured as I donned the new suit's coat and taking hold of the briefcase no doubt filled with the necessary chemicals and papers.

Taking a deep breath, I once more submerged myself into the mindset of Dr. Crane.

I was Dr. Crane. I was a skilled chemist and successful psychiatrist. Perfection was my dogma and I was a devout follower. No one could oppose me. No one could overcome me. The world would tremble in **fear** if it knew the reign of terror my toxins would provide. I was cold. I was calculating. I was Dr. Crane.

I opened my eyes and viewed the world through the sharp, cynical lens _he_ used.

"Oh, and 'Dr. Crane'?"

I turned my head to boredly view my doppelgänger, "Yes?" I asked, my scratchy monotone saturating the word with power.

"I trust one more day isn't too much for you to handle?"

I smirked cruelly, matching his sarcasm, "Of course."

Before any more time passed, I left the room, instilling every motion with arrogance and danger until I oozed superiority despite my thrashing heart as I recalled the pleased smile _he_ gave me before I left.

It was worth a thousand 'thank you's and a million apologies to see satisfaction, caused by _me_, light up his face in a way I only saw when he made a perfect toxin or found a breakthrough in his work.

I was his, yes, but I was his perfect creation: resilient yet dependent, intelligent yet malleable, threatening yet loving.

Yet sooner than I would have liked, I found myself once more outside the too large doors of the conference room.

I pushed open the grand door without hesitation...and now the show would begin.

"Ah 'Dr. Crane', you once more return with your wondrous potions, yes?" the annoying Frenchman greeted me with a lilting voice.

I cleared my tender but hidden throat and spoke in my scratchy monotone made even easier by the hoarseness of my voice, an after effect of _him_ choking me, "Indeed, although today's presentation is _much_ different from before."

Once more I took my place at the edge of the table, standing while everyone else sat comfortably and placing my briefcase atop the table's surface while noting the greater number of men than yesterday.

Oh well, they were only nameless people who would be buying the products presented.

A snicker sounded as a bald, robust man in a form fitting suit let out a snide comment, "Been sampling the product, Doc'?"

I narrowed my eyes at him but Monsieur Merrick joined in, "Oh yes, that bruise across your cheek is quite alarming, did you experience any, er, 'difficulties' managing your stock with those _mains féminine__s_?"

I gave them a grim smile, "A minor mishap, I assure you."

The playful Frenchman raised an eyebrow, "Well, I'm not convinced but I'd rather hear of your treasures than your losses. Come now, 'Doctor', give us a show."

I had almost forgotten my distaste for the Romanic language of French but I soon remembered as his accent and jesting words wore on my patience.

Yet I merely gave a slight nod before beginning, "Today, I would like to introduce you all to my recreational drug known as Thrill. Much as the title alludes to, this drug ignites the pleasurable aspects of fear and adrenaline for a short period of time—The largest dose lasting a little over two hours," I wracked my brains for Dr. Crane's description of the drug or the proposed price but drew a blank.

The bald man from before scoffed, "What's enjoyable about fear?"

The pleasure of seeing ungrateful men like you pleading for mercy...

I opened my mouth to give an appropriate response when Monsieur Merrick interrupted, "Ah Mr. Trent, can you not see that fear is no different than an aphrodisiac?" I narrowed my eyes slightly but said nothing, "The heart pounds, releasing chemical stimulants; the eyes become dilated with the prospect of adventure; the body becomes hypersensitive to the touch...the mind is easily undone if the raw materials of fear or lust are properly utilized...Isn't that correct, 'Doctor'?"

My skin crawled.

Not once during his entire speech did he look away from me. Then those words he used...Something didn't feel right.

"Perhaps, Monsieur Merrick—Although Thrill is merely a 'feel good' drug whose unparalleled effects have _one_ outstanding feature..." I paused for dramatic effect while hoping my bluff wouldn't be called, "it is _entirely_ untraceable."

Raised eyebrows, shocked faces, greedy smiles, skeptic glares all surrounded me as I continued, "Thrill acts as a stimulant to the chemicals your brain already possesses; therefore, there is no trial of chemical waste left in its wake. Its complex formula is unlike any other for it cannot be successfully altered yet it is also 'impossible' to build an immunity to the drug so not even your enemies will have a chance to prepare themselves.

'Quite the opposite occurs. Instead, the user cannot find a pleasing _thrill_ in other places such as great heights, roller coasters, and so on. If used accordingly the drug can either be recreational or deadly, as the consumer feels the need to experience the same sensation when the drug wears off, sometimes risking death in their attempts. Thrill is entirely untraceable and one hundred percent addicting. Would anyone care to try a sample?"

There was silence before a great rush of whispers sounded as the men squabbled amongst themselves.

"I will try this drug, Thrill," none other than Monsieur Merrick stood, forest green eyes alight with an emotion I could not read as he neared me with great flourish.

Stonily, I opened the briefcase and saw only few syringes filled and bright green serum. Smoothly, I viewed the choices but before I could decide Monsieur Merrick leaned over my shoulder and pointed at the biggest dosage, "I would like _that _one, 'Doctor'."

Fury boiled in my veins at his audacity but I smothered it as I retrieved the preferred syringe and motioned with my other hand, "If you would roll up your sleeve, Monsieur Merrick."

He chuckled, "Ah yes, how could I expect those _mains féminines_ to complete such an _ennuyeuse_ task."

Laughter spread yet I kept my blank except for my eyes which narrowed as he rolled up a sleeve to reveal more sun kissed skin. Quickly I braced myself for the moment of contact as I inserted the syringe's needle into the juncture of his arm yet before I could inject him with the drug, he caught my hand with his free one, "Ah one quick question, 'Doctor'. What is the dose one must reach before overdosing?"

I raised eyebrow, "Scared, Monsieur Merrick? Well to be honest the dose has not been identified. The strain of intense adrenaline and other endorphins could easily kill a man with a heart condition or simply provide a pleasant high to someone with a fast metabolism. The mortality rate is for your customers to decide...Whoever is willing to take the highest risk and who is _able_ survive are two separate factors."

Not for the first time, I was thankful for my extensive training in mortuary science and the vast amount of knowledge I accumulated over the years.

At first he said nothing before his too smooth smile spread across his face, "Very well then..."

To my despair he didn't release my hand but rather injected himself with my hand underneath his. Thankfully, I was able to pull away, perhaps a bit faster than I should have if the beads of blood were any indication, but he didn't complain. In fact, he didn't do anything as I replaced the empty syringe in the briefcase and prepared the roster sheets Dr. Crane had mentioned.

It wasn't until I had finally devoted my full attention to him did I notice the great, dazed smile across his face.

"This is wonderful!" he exclaimed as a light pink spread to his cheeks, "All of you need to try this!"

Thankfully, there was not a rush of crooks hurrying to test the drug. Instead, they began negotiating prices.

"How much did you say it was?" a man asked yet I had difficulty prying my eyes from Monsieur Merrick's smiling face.

He looked so happy...I wonder what such happiness felt like—

"Dr. Crane?"

Without caring who I was talking to, I turned back and blurted out a shameful price, grossly understating the price of unaltered joy, "150$ per ten milliliters."

This answer seemed to please many and surprise a few yet I hoped the low price would encourage more buyers.

"Now, I will be passing along forms which I would like you all to fill out with your desired product—I'm sure the appropriate sum of money is present?"

"Yes everyone, the good doctor has shown us many wonders these two days. He possesses poison and pleasure," Monsieur Merrick broke off to chuckle, "just like a woman, eh? Although, this fine man has given us express courtesy to _decide_ which we want for quite a fair price. Please everyone; make haste with your purchases so that we may go out on a luncheon!"

Despite the good humor of the room, I felt cold.

No matter the impressive sum I was handed, filling the briefcase to the brim with the ease of 100$ bills, tightly bound and labeled, I could not rid myself of the feeling that something was definitely amiss.

Once the last purchase was made with the roster returned, I closed the heavy case of money, "Thank you all for your business, the product will arrive at their designated addresses tonight although international shipment will require an additional day."

Without another word, I left the room trying to breathe through my tight chest—

Damn, why did Dr. Crane tighten the bandages so snugly? I was suffocating in this suit!

Nevermind that, this would be the last day I would have to continue this charade and hopefully with this last, _bountiful_ deal we would no longer be risking our necks in illegal trade.

I was only halfway to my—_our _room when an annoying voice rang out, "Oh 'Doctor'!"

I stifled the urge to groan and roll my eyes as I turned around expecting a loopy Frenchman prancing through the hallway with glee but instead I was met with the dark green gaze of his eyes viewing me indecently as though he was stripping me bare. Uncomfortably, I remembered his words on the merits and similarities of fear and lust.

Yet only when he was a foot away in the deserted hallway unmarred by doors of any sort, did his voice lose its lighthearted tone, "Are you not hungry, 'Doctor'?"

I met his gaze unflinchingly, "I believe it would be best if I did not dine with such a great sum of money."

He frowned, "Of course, of course."

"Good day Monsieur," I replied cordially and turned to leave when I found myself pinned against the wall, the briefcase on the floor and my head aching from the impact.

"Did you think I would not recognize the walk of a woman?"

My eyes widened but I made a quick recovery, "Monsieur, your teasing has gone too far. I suggest you release me and we never speak of—"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Or rather the _real_ Dr. Crane would. He wouldn't want his _douce petite assistante_ to attract attention to your, ah, 'predicament', no?"

Sweat rolled down the back of my neck, "I believe the drug is dulling your senses, Mon—"

A hand rested over my beating heart and no matter how I berated myself for the defensive move, I flinched away.

Yet my action was in vain as the sickening man rest his hand on my chest, "I wasn't sure at first, _Revis_, if you were truly in disguise or not—You are quite the little actress—but then I followed you back to your room and watched from the servant hallway your _rendezvous_ with the _true_ doctor. I know when I saw you," his hand moved away from my bound breasts to a higher point on my chest, "panting and imprisoned, those pale tits heaving with the delicious fear so clear on your face that I would steal you away..." his fingers enclosed around the crow necklace underneath the tie, "My little crow."

H-He knew...

Gathering my strength, I glared at him viscously, using my own voice to address him, "Release me, Monsieur. The first man who violated my rights suffered my wrath and was killed. The second man who imposed himself upon me now lives in a constant state of dementia, viscous hallucinations and vivid horrors plaguing him as he _screams _and _screams_, trapped in an endless abyss of terror unable to break free long enough to realize has been reduced to a mess of tears and piss with no hope for redemption. I wonder, 'Monsieur', if you fully understand the severity of the situation at hand."

He stared at me with something akin to wonder as he moved closer, pressing his body against mine in such a way he knew with utmost certainty that I was female, "_I_ wonder, my little crow, if Dr. Crane truly realizes the intriguing woman he possesses..."

I tilted my head mockingly, "It's quite morbid of your to converse so easily with your death...'Monsieur'."

His eyes twinkled with mirth as he backed away slightly, still caging me but leaving me some room to breathe as well, "Ah yes...How could I have forgotten your...unique condition."

What did this creep want?

"I should be returning, Dr. Crane will—"

"No doubt be very pleased with your success..." he shifted himself once more so as to stroke the bruise along my cheek, "Although, it would be best if you did not anger him. I could not bear to watch him injure my little crow and so I left you two alone...a most regrettable choice, I now know. If only I had interrupted then perhaps he would not have hurt you so..."

Lies...All filthy lies.

My hand knocked away his with a muffled sound created by our sleeves, "_Do not_ touch me."

He frowned before grasping the offending wrist tightly causing me to cry out with pain. Holding my wrist firmly within his hand he easily slid the suit and long sleeved shirt down my forearm with the other in order to reveal more brutalized skin.

He clicked his tongue regretfully, "It seems Dr. Crane is a more violent man that I had thought. Now that I see his cruelty spelled out so clearly on your pale skin, I know I cannot keep you any longer."

I jerked my hand away from his, rolling down my sleeve once more to cover the markings as I glared at him.

"Ah, do not blame me, little crow. I have waited for _weeks_ to meet _you_. I cannot help if my, ah, enthusiasm distorts my judgment—Besides, as you say I am probably still affected by the drug."

I turned my head away, wishing desperately I could escape.

Yet I found my face being turned back by his rotting touch, oozing perfumed flattery and oily, cloying greed, "I will call on you tonight, little crow. I hope in light of our conversation...and the pending safety of your Doctor's reputation after this _scandalous_ trifle, you will come to me when I call, yes?"

"Have I any choice?" I asked bitterly.

He smiled sadly while patting my cheek, "Oh you do...More than you would believe, my little crow. I can only hope that your wings have not yet been clipped so you are free to fly wherever you wish."

He then released me before walking down the hallway at a leisurely pace.

Numbly, I picked up the fallen briefcase and journeyed back to the hotel room torn between the safety I would have upon entering those four walls and the promised danger of meeting the room's inhabitant with my failure.

Perhaps I could sneak out later...Although wouldn't he notice if I was missing? Of course, there were an abundance of poisons and sedatives so it shouldn't be too hard to catch him unaware and allow him a long, sound night of chemically induced slumber. I could deal with his fury later but not now...not with everything that has happened.

Not allowing myself a moment of hesitation so as to not undermine my determination, I entered the room closing the door and locking it before depositing the heavy briefcase atop the side table near the door.

Sighing, I unbuttoned the suit and began to loosen the tie as Dr. Crane walked up to me but before he could speak I opened my mouth and spoke normally, "The money's in the briefcase along with the rosters. I'm going to go shower."

I attempted to brush past him and retreat into the bathroom when he spoke, "Revis, did everything go according to plan?"

I exhaled showing annoyance at the situation so as to hide the tremble of my heart, "Yes, everything's fine."

I heard his footsteps before I felt a hand latch onto my arm, threatening to pull back, "Then why are you in such a rush?"

I swallowed, my knees shaking, "I didn't know you enjoyed the sight of yourself so much you would ask for me to stay like this..."

He yanked my arm back, merely unbalancing me as his eyes narrowed, "What happened, Revis?"

I ducked my head and struggled to breathe normally, yet my voice came out breathless and tight, "Nothing..."

His other hand rose to hold me by my shoulders, forcing me to face his burning gaze, "And why don't I believe you, hm?"

I shook my head, begging with my eyes as I fought to breathe regularly.

"What happened, Revis?" he asked again, the promise of pain brewing in his eyes.

I shakily held my breath, struggling to think of the best words to use before exhaling and jerkily breathing in again as a slight whimper escaped me.

"Well?" he asked darkly.

"S-" my breath caught but I forced myself to say those damning words, "Someone knows."

His eyes widened considerably before narrowing into venomous slits, "**Who?**"

I took a deep yet shaky breath, "Mo-Monsieur Merrick."

He exhaled angrily, releasing me so as to pace the room, "The host...Of all the people you could have slipped up to you managed to pick the worst one of them all!"

He turned his ravings onto me as he stormed up to me, shaking my shoulders, "Do you have any idea what you've done?! My reputation, my hard work, all of it **ruined!**"

He raised a hand, presumably to strike me when a knock sounded at the door.

Time seemed to freeze for a moment, locking us in this pained embrace before he removed his hands from my body and gestured to the door.

Another knock rang out before I hurriedly answered the door, not bothering to use the peephole in favour of quickly disarming the many locks. Yet when I answered the door a uniformed bellhop stood with great posture bearing a long, medium sized box, "For the lady of the room," he recited with utmost courtesy.

I cleared my throat and nodded, not trusting my voice as I gathered the box in my arms and closed the door, locking myself in the room with my furious psychiatrist.

"A delivery?" he asked icily.

I shrugged, cowering under his gaze as I turned my back to him in order to place the box atop the table with the mirror.

The white material shined curiously, as if its contents were of such a great enough value to warrant the use of the expensive packaging. Tentatively, I separated the lid from its place atop the box as the sound of crinkling paper filled the tense air.

Finally separating the two pieces, I placed the lid down while lifting a piece of paper, heavy parchment, off the folded tissue paper enclosing the box's contents.

_Within this box I have enclosed an evening gown and shoes_—_Hopefully your unsightly scars will not ruin our __supper with their distasteful presence._

_ I have given you the courtesy of a few hours' time to ready yourself yet when the time comes I expect you to journey to the twenty-eighth floor, suite 18, where I shall await your arrival._

_ I trust you will take int__o consideration our earlier conversation and the merits of joining me tonight at 7:30 precisely...My little crow._

Molten rage seared my blood with a near unstoppable frenzy.

How dare he!

Between the crude remarks of my scars (seen during my 'punishment'?) to the pompous manner in which he merely assumed I would follow along with his proposal?!

So consumed by my fury, I hadn't noted Dr. Crane's presence, slyly reading over my shoulder until he placed a hand atop my stiffened shoulder, "Revis..."

I shook off his touch, crumpling the note in my hand before letting it fall to the floor as I turned to walk away from the offending package, "It doesn't matter, I **won't** be going."

"Monsieur Merrick is a powerful man, Revis...It would be unwise to anger him especially since he knows of the disaster you've made."

I whipped around furiously, "Oh so now you're suddenly supportive of this?!" I stormed toward him before pushing him back roughly, "I can't believe you!" I pushed him against the wall, holding _him_ tightly as my ire gave me strength I didn't know I possessed, "To suddenly turn me into the ideal prospect of weakness to mask _your_ inadequacy, suggesting that you could have amounted to _anything _as great as you are today without me! _How __**dare**__ y__ou..._"

He viewed me disdainfully as though my assault was only a minor inconvenience, "Revis, control yourself before _I_ am forced to."

I bristled at his words, "Oh, so will you resort to your straightjacket and sedatives or will you mere **beat** me into submission, using every piece of myself that I _gave_ to you against me?!"

I dug my nails into his blue sweatervest, "When will you finally start treating me like your assistant and giving me the credit I _deserve_?!"

He wrestled against my grip, eventually overpowering my efforts so forcibly I was sent back a few steps as he threw me away from him, "When you stop acting like my patient."

The fight inside of me died as I stood there numbly, my eyes downcast as a blackened sludge drowned me with cloying pain and suffocating fear as I as remembered my previous argument with myself just five days ago.

Timidly, I asked, "You...You'd tell me if I was..." I paused to search for the right words, "'confused', right? I mean, if I was detached from..." the pain mounted but I forced myself to speak of my fear, "from r-reality...wouldn't you?"

I raised head to gaze searchingly into his face, knowing my ugly eyes were betraying my pain and vulnerability.

He walked near me, "Do you honestly expect me to play the role of your psychiatrist? We're miles away from Arkham and we have long since let go of our former occupations—"

I cut him off, trembling at the possibility that he might have been lying to me, "Y-You just called me your patient...Obviously, you haven't rid yourself of your former life as much as you would have me believe," I swallowed, "You would tell me though...if I was like _that,_ I mean?"

He moved so swiftly I was taken aback as he embraced me tightly, holding me to his chest as if I was something precious, "Do you truly doubt me so much, Revis?"

"I—"

"Shhh..." he calmed me by stroking my back soothingly, "Obviously these past few days have been too stressful for you. I admit my actions were a bit _rash_," softly, almost regretfully, he caressed my aching throat with one of his hands, "Yet you are correct in reminding me that you are now my assistant and we are no longer captive of our previous vices, right Revis?"

Lies...All beautiful lies.

I rested my head atop his shoulder, "You don't have to lie to me, Dr. Crane...I know how much my obedience means to you. If I rebel against your will then chaos assumes and I know how much esteem you hold for orderly things. I-I've done many things to deserve your anger but please do not become unnecessarily cruel...I have done nothing to deserve your sweet lies."

He cleared his throat, still embracing me so that I was unable to see his face, "You would rather I express my displeasure yet not reward you for your successes?"

I tightened my grip on his suit, "I would rather live in reality, no matter how harsh than ever become deluded because I was too _weak_ to face the truth."

"Life is cruel..." he whispered.

I nodded, "—and therefore tragedy is beautiful. If the shock of death is the remedy to the illusions of the living, then why not celebrate it? If I suffer pains then why not cherish the scars that mark their passing?"

He was silent.

I disentangled myself from his touch enough to raise a hand and cup his cheek, "I know you do not love me but I hope that one day you will see the beauty of your sorrows and realize the depths of my love."

Without another word despite the thousand insecurities running rampant through my mind, I left the room to shower and prepare myself—mentally, at least—for tonight's events.


	58. Chapter 28: Temptation

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers for your insightful comments and overwhelming support! I hope I can address any questions mentioned in the reviews within this chapter, specifically the time-line of events.**

**Wow, only one more chapter until the end of part 2, Timor Et Mors! It's incredible how the time has flown! Once more with the introduction (no epilogue this time) of part three 'Iustitia' ('Justice' in Latin) I will begin the chapter count over once more. Part Three has some large time jumps in order to help fill up the 8 year gap between The Dark Knight and The Dark Knight Rises; however, any plot after the Dark Knight Triology and loose ends not tied up in 'Mors Et Timor' as a whole, will be addressed in the sequel. I will be taking time off to write the sequel (I have almost 40 chapters planned out already) but I'll get more in depth with that when we reach the end of 'Mors Et Timor'. Once more a giant thank you to everyone who has given me support, advice, critism, and positive feedback ^-^ **

**Oh and the phone-number is 'asshole' written out with the number pad of the phone. Quite fitting if you think about it.**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 28<strong>

It was 7:20.

I felt sick.

Between the suffocating feel of expensive fabric and the nauseous turn of events, it was a struggle to breathe correctly and Dr. Crane's pressing stare didn't help. My stomach twisted painfully and my head felt light as I stared in the mirror hating my reflection.

My hair was finally free of gel and curled in a wayward way more resembling a bird's nest than anything stylish considering the uneven ends and lack of direction. As if that wasn't bad enough its short length left me feeling vulnerable. Although, thankfully, the black gossamer scarf wrapped around my neck hid the bruising of my throat it did nothing for the bite marks and other discolorations along my body.

In truth, every scar or mark upon my skin was overly exposed for while the tight, strapless bodice held the dress in place, the rest of thin fabric trailed along my body in a whisper of black gossamer, pooling around my feet in tendrils of shadows—leaving me bare and weak.

In my opinion the dress itself was an object of scorn. Not only did it highlight my battered body but it was also scandalous for it seemed that only a sheer fabric clothed me due to the milky slip underneath the wisps of gossamer. The allusion to such explicit displays of the body repulsed me yet I didn't dare ask Dr. Crane for his opinion since his eyes were entirely unreadable and frustratingly never left me.

Swallowing thickly, I glanced at him before looking to the door, "I...Well, I should be going."

He said nothing.

I paused, hesitating, _hoping_, but when he only stared I pushed down my crushing guilt and walked toward the door trying desperately to remember the smooth gait heels required.

Now as I walked down the grand hallways I focused on exulting poise and sombre beauty so as to cover my emotions as they crashed around inside me. It was best to focus on the events of tonight for there was no use in punishing myself for what cannot be undone.

So as I uncertainly glided through the hallways, the dress fluttering around my legs in wisps of shadows giving my tread an eerie, alluring touch I felt in a childish and _ridiculous_ way as though I were in some distant dream or fairytale

Perhaps to some passerby I would appear as a phantom, some ghostly figure ethereal in presence and fleeting in motion—Or perhaps I would just appear as a scarred woman struggling to walk as she walked toward the unknown so as to save her psychiatrist's reputation.

The ride in the elevator, the trouble of navigating the twisting labyrinth of the hallways, all of it grounded my fanciful thoughts as I realized just how much harm could be done tonight now that I was at his mercy...especially when Dr. Crane was as well.

Yet the mocking number _18_ on the suite door in front of me wasn't going to solve my problems. Gathering my wits, I knocked twice in quiet raps secretly hoping there would be no answer.

I was wrong.

"Ah my little crow, you are a minute late."

The door had opened to reveal the well-dressed man, looking pristine as always as he eyed me without any discretion, "Although with your hideous appearance, I find myself feeling greater ire at your insolence—or perhaps your doctor's."

I was silent, biting my tongue as I struggled to keep myself in check.

"Yet do come in, little crow...Do come in."

He swiftly moved out of the doorway and gestured for me to enter the grand suite. Once I was inside, I barely spared a glance to the expensive decor and designer brand bedding, vases, rugs, and paintings before turning around and taking a stab at the heart of the matter, "What do you want?"

He raised an eyebrow, "So harsh...Can you not enjoy the finery around you and appreciate the true meaning of my offer?"

I eyed him warily, "I'm sure you're speaking of the 'honour' you gave me by inviting me here tonight?"

His eyes danced as he easily broke the seal of a wine bottle, uncorked it, and poured two glasses, "You are very smart Revis but it seems you are quite dense in matters of etiquette. "

His eyes seemed to freeze me with his unwanted attention no matter how much I tried to avoid his gaze.

No matter what _looks_ he gave me I would not allow him to gain leverage over me, "It seems you are also quite lacking in that department, _Monsieur_."

He scoffed scratching at the faint stubble along his cheek, "Nonsense, I compliment beauty when it is present yet I do not coat my words in honey for the sake of a mere assistant," he reached for one of the glasses, "Earlier you remarked upon my comment of finery as though it were hiding a true meaning: that of my power. But you are wrong, I fully intended for you to see both. Now please, take a glass so that we may talk comfortably."

I stared at the outstretched hand with disdain at both the liquid and his words, "I don't drink."

He raised an eyebrow, "You surely are of age, correct?"

I shrugged off the mocking question, "What do you want?"

He retracted his hand, the smooth fabric of his charcoal suit hardly creasing as he left the extra glass on the crystal stand next to a chaise longue while taking a sip from his own, "No, the question is, my _rude _little crow, what do _you_ want."

I furrowed my eyebrows but he continued, "You look positively _ravishing_ in that dress—Surely you can see the fabric moulds itself to your body, bending to your beauty and capturing the hearts of all who see you or so it would if those marks did not mar your skin. Yet would you not enjoy a consistency of such luxuries in your life?"

I sneered, "This _dress_ is a waste of money and your pitch is a waste of my time. I have no love for the spoils of money and the filthy greed it incites just as I have no desire to 'capture hearts' as you say."

He fingered the rim of his wineglass pensively, "You are wise to not be lured by such trivialities but you are surely not so foolish as to ignore the benefits of wealth and the many connections one can make?"

I didn't speak.

He placed his wineglass atop the crystal table with its brother and took two leisurely steps toward me, "I can give you those connections, Revis. There are many benefits if we were to join in a union together."

I stiffened and backed away, "I'm not interested."

He cocked his head, pausing before elegantly sitting on the chase longue, "Ah yes, you have much love for your doctor...it seems he is the only heart you seek to capture—Did he enjoy the sight of you in that dress or did he take greater pleasure in the revealing display of his brutality?"

My stomach churned as he spoke of my love, my doctor, making it seem like he was…well, abusive.

I wasn't stupid; I knew his actions _were_ abusive but when the Frenchman spoke of them he made everything seem so shameful, so _ugly._

My voice tightened as I replied, "Please Monsieur...I am perfectly content in my current position and I have no desire to take your offer."

He laughed softly, "How quaint you are! Yet you are also mistaken for I have not yet given you an offer; therefore, you cannot deny me."

His carefree manner boiled my blood...Oh how much I desired to remind him of his mortality and show him the true prowess of Death.

Grimly, he eyed me with a searching, sombre expression, "Your doctor is a disturbed man. I see clearly the grip of his hands and the _many_ wounds of his bite," my face flushed as he continued, "I wonder…"

Before I could react he leaned forward and pulled the scarf from my neck.

His eyebrows rose in mild interest, "Ah, I was wondering what you were hiding under that scrap of coarse fabric. Did you not think I would notice your crude supplement with such a dress of exquisite taste? Yet those marks are perhaps the most curious of all…and this—"

He grasped my crow necklace in between two fingers, "Is it so necessary to court death?"

I swallowed, unsure how to respond yet he continued, "You don the symbol of the reaper; you entertain the company of a cruel doctor who continuously poisons you—"

Fed up, I snatched the bauble from his fingertips and backed away a few feet, "You're wrong! While things have been...difficult there is no reason to discard a suitable partnership under the strain of misfortune. Besides, that necklace was a gift—"

"A gift?" he asked as if he hadn't heard the word before, "Just as those bruises are a 'gift' from your doctor? Just as those scared eyes of yours have been 'gifted' by life to suffer agonies? No, little crow, you are quite mistaken. You are not blessed; you are cursed. You do not share a partnership with your doctor; you are a tool he will soon discard."

I uncomfortably shifted when he continued, "Even from his personal reports, he regarded you as someone both irrational and incapable of anything but the simplest of acts."

I cleared my throat, choosing to only respond to a small portion of his words for the rest I could not argue against, "Personal reports?"

He nodded, "It was in your patient profile—from Arkham."

My heart raced, "H-How did you?"

He leaned back regally, his hand reaching for his discarded wineglass, "Connections, Revis."

What was in my profile? How did he get ahold of it? What if this was merely a lie he was using so as to try to turn me against Dr. Crane?

"You could be lying," I bravely interjected.

Yet he merely raised his eyebrows with surprise, "Then how else would I know your measurements for that exquisite dress?"

I felt pinpricks of panic spread across my arm but merely crossed them in defiance, "That profile was made a year ago—"

He shook his head, "Almost two years, little crow."

I furrowed my eyebrows trying to think of the time that had past. It was autumn when I was taken to Arkham and spring when I escaped. A year later, Dr. Crane kidnapped me and once more held me captive—And now it was spring again.

Shock hit me in the stomach painfully. It had been two years since my life changed. I was twenty-five now...soon to be twenty-six. How had two years just escaped me?

Yet an even more painful although absurd realization dawned on me: I missed the snowfall. Of course, I felt its chill in the Victorian house but it didn't change the pain of losing so much time to the prison walls Dr. Crane caged me within.

Taking in my shock, he stood and began to near me with his wineglass still in hand, "I have the profile, including the results of your evaluation if you're interested to know what he _truly_ thinks of you."

Stretching and stretching, my patience was about to break as a frenzied bout of nerves swelled in my chest, "It's a professional report. I believe my own experiences with Dr. Crane are more reliable than any official papers from a mental institution."

He took another sip of his wine, pausing longer than needed before continuing, almost as if he was restraining himself from speaking out of line—Yet hadn't he already?

"Then are you not curious to know your diagnosis?"

I tightened my grip on my arms unconsciously overlapping the bruises _he_ imprinted on my skin, "Diagnosis?"

He nodded stopping a foot away, "You were admitted to a center for the criminally _insane_ have you never been curious to know what breed of chaos plagues you? Are you not eager to understand your internal vice?"

I backed away once more, "I'd trust Dr. Crane to confide in me if he thought it necessary."

He scoffed, "He is a mastermind. You cannot expect me to believe that he has been honest with you all this time? Especially upon finding you, a year later, when you condemned his work and sentenced him to his own asylum?"

My breath left me, "How did you know about that? The tabloids have died down and while we're still at large no news reports have come out since his escape."

He smirked, finishing his wine, "Connections, Revis...You could have them too."

I let go of my arms and strode further into the room, aiming for the open French doors leading to the balcony, in hopes the fresh air would clear my mind.

Just as I had thought, I felt the wonderful rush of the wind and enjoyed its soothing embrace as it caused the flowing fabric of the gown to whisper in mirth and flutter teasingly.

I felt Monsieur Merrick's warm hand fall atop my shoulder, his wineglass presumably on the small crystal table next to the full cup, "You are in the midst of the grandeur of my world, so different from the misery of yours, and yet you are not convinced…Why?"

I tensed, "Your words cannot touch me," I turned my head to glare at him, "and your hands would be wise if they followed suit."

He laughed yet released me, "You wound me with your stubborn spirit but I suppose it is in equal parts alluring. I would offer you to the dinner I had planned yet I find your ugly skin to be an eye-sore and I fear my stomach would not take well to such _grotesque_ displays."

I angrily strode to the door accidentally spilling the fresh glass of wine as my hand brushed past the table. Ignoring the vivid red as it seeped into the expensive carpet next to me, I continued on.

I was planning on walking out no matter the consequence—_Damn_ the consequence! I would not stand by idly while he degraded me.

Just one night...I couldn't even survive one night.

"Revis."

His voice was quiet, it did not rise to gather attention but demanded that others pause and _give_ notice to the speaker yet I continued to walk.

"Isabella Thompson is here tonight."

I froze, my eyes flying over the finery of the elite which his room boasted—It was all wasteful, completely unnecessary, and vulgar in its extravagance...Yet I could not deny its decadent beauty or tear my eyes away as that name threatened to push me past my breaking point.

What was that filthy, _lying __**TRAMP **_doing here?!

He moved no closer and his voice did not rise but I heard him clearly, as though it possessed the sharp ring of the **tramp's** screams as she suffered a righteous agony—

"Ah yes, you have been acquainted with her, correct? Thanks to you, she has become quite a sensation within Gotham. Even her _liberal_ beliefs of the spirit of the common people is seen as charming, idealistic...yet entirely **fallacious**."

So gross...The shameless displays of wealth and extravagance within the room; so brilliant...The scene of allure of finally extracting vengeance, blessed vengeance, upon _her_.

She was here...So close, in the same hotel—

No!

It was a lie, a gilded poison, but it was so appealing...

My hands clenched as I forcibly held myself back from causing a scene by screaming for her exact whereabouts so that I could tear that bitch's face off.

"If you wish...I could arrange a private meeting between you two," his words held the coiled presence of avarice under the lush cover of benevolence, "A sequestered room, sound proof, with the promise of a safe escort when you are finished, ah, 'conversing'."

I continued to stare at the room, wishing so desperately to accept his offer, to finally end her foolish defiance—Yet I knew there would be a condition to this arrangement and it would be unwise to hand him evidence in which he could then blackmail me if I went against him.

Suddenly there was a hand on my lower back, a voice in my ear, "I have many resources and connections which can make your greatest dreams a reality. If you were to leave your cruel doctor and instead work for me, you would flourish."

Mutinous words spilled forth, "What would that work entitle?"

I felt his smile, saturating the air with a presumptuous stench of victory, "Your knowledge of the potions your doctor makes is a priceless asset, the potential of modifications and the promise of variation concerning future products is overwhelming. The production will be the responsibility of another sect, leaving you free to create all the potions you wish."

I furrowed my eyebrows and turned to him, breaking my transfixed state, "If you seek poisons, Monsieur, they can be bought. If you seek a new product, there is no harm in consulting Dr. Crane."

His hand shifted to wrap his fingers around my hip, possessively bringing me closer to his body, "You know as much as your doctor, correct? You seek liberation from his abuses as well. I have the power to grant you freedom and you have the knowledge to repay me."

I pushed him away seething, "If you think I can be bought then you are _severely_ mistaken. I have no desire to work for you and I do not need your charity. If this is your proposal then I once more decline."

His eyes hardened, forest green turning to a rotten shade of moss curdling whatever essence of jovial humor they once possessed, "Do not be rash, little crow. Within an instant I can spread word of the wanted criminal 'Revis' infiltrating the Lux Atlantic with intention to first slaughter her only _surviving _victim and then all those therein."

I was breathing heavily, outraged and panicked—Trapped.

Trapped in this room with this powerful man who could not be beaten.

A smooth smile spread across his face yet his eyes didn't change, "Do not worry; you will dirty your gown with anxious sweat. Instead, you should sensibly reconsider my proposal."

I forced my erratic breathing to even out as I glared but he continued with confidence, "When not experimenting with chemicals in a lab, you act as a connoisseur, of sorts, specializing in the macabre. Yet Miss Thompson's experiences have kept you close to the city, correct? I could free you of your bondage—from both the woman who defies you and the man who abuses you."

I clenched my jaw at the barbed remark yet wisely held my tongue so as to not walk into his offer blinded by emotion—or to fall into a rage due to his blundering tongue.

Yet Monsieur Merrick wouldn't let it rest, "Haven't you yearned for such an offer? Is this not your sole desire? Revenge and liberation? A life lived without want of anything? A pedestal upon which you are raised for the world to see? A position from which you may take whatever you please, kill whomever you wish, and no one may argue? "

Finally I spoke, trusting my waning control to last just a bit longer, "Fame and infamy mean nothing to those who have purpose and the desire to fulfill it. I do not need you to extract revenge upon **her** and I do not wish to be 'liberated' for I am not bound. I have survived once in a hell, your threats of returning to such a place do not scare me. Call for them, Monsieur, and you will only find yourself lacking a chemist and making a business associate into a terrible enemy."

Part of my speech was a lie—Arkham _terrified_ me in such a way I could never shake its shadow from my mind but I knew I could find a way out once more.

A sharp pang stabbed my heart as I thought of once more being swallowed in that metal hell…without anyone to save me—

Nevermind what I said, I wasn't so sure Dr. Crane would express more than irritation at my capture let alone seek to free me or take revenge on someone like Merrick.

He retained his poker face, "Perhaps I have strained your already weak nature—as a woman you are unaccustomed to strenuous acts of mental acuity such as negotiation and as a sullied madwoman you are even less accustomed to others taking interest in your disposition," with his ever present grandeur, he grasped my struggling hand in his as he held it in a crushing grip, giving me a mocking kiss atop the back of my hand, "We shall make our rendezvous another time...My little crow."

If I was seething before now I was all but foaming at the mouth with indignation and lividity. Yet I hadn't time to retaliate as he opened the door barely a foot away and raised an eyebrow in a mocking question: _Have you changed your mind?_

I exhaled roughly and left the room, fuming as I entered the nearby elevator, thankfully empty.

Yet by the time the elevator arrived on our floor my anger dulled to melancholy.

Was I spared a terrible fate or merely coerced into a worse demise? What chance did I ever stand against someone as infuriating and as powerful as Merrick?

I was rudely pushed into a wall by a frantic passerby, some guest racing to catch the closing doors of the elevator also too hurried to notice my _already _battered body it seemed. Yet the painful impact caused me to shake off my thoughts and race to my hotel room, ripping off my heels so as to carry them by their straps along with a giant tuff of my dress.

I didn't have time to waste.

Heart racing and lungs burning, I finally made it to our room before pounding on the door uncaring if I made a commotion, there was too much lost to chaos for something like patience or tact to exist.

Barely a second past before the door was wretched open to reveal the scrutinizing gaze of Dr. Crane yet I barreled into him, dropping the shoes on the floor as I tried to catch my breath while warning him, "We have to leave, now!"

He held me awkwardly as he shut the door so as to better analyze the situation.

"Revis, what happened? Where is your scarf—"

I shook my head and clung to him, "Please, we need to leave."

He took my shoulders in hand, his fingers overlapping the ugly marks, and held me at a distance, his eyes holding not a drop of sympathy.

I was unable to think of a suitable reason as my mind repeated the confusing events that had just transpired but he must have seen _something _within my eyes for he reacted in a way I would have never believed.

"I'll bring the car to the front; you wait here with the luggage."

"What?" I asked breathlessly.

He narrowed his eyes, "Stay here and don't bother changing, it'd waste time."

With that he left, slamming the door as I was left, shaking and uncertain of what to do.

What time would I waste? Hadn't I wasted enough tonight? Would I even have time to waste tomorrow?

Despite my unsteady legs I found myself standing still, my mind racing as fast as my heart—

A loud knock on the door interrupted my thoughts.

Dr. Crane wouldn't knock...

I swiftly rushed to the wooden barrier and peeked through the peephole only to be met with the sight of an empty hallway.

I began turning, ready to walk back into the room, when my curiosity propelled me to open the door, just to rid myself of the itching feeling of uncertainty.

Shocked, I stared at the tan, manila envelope on the floor outside my door.

Swallowing nervously, I quickly retrieved it knowing only one person could have left this here: Monsieur Merrick.

Yet when did he find the time? Was it prearranged? What was it?

Retrieving the large and weighty envelope, I hurriedly closed the door before shakily opening it and sliding out a thick ream of papers and letting the container fall to the floor.

My heart stopped before painfully beating in my tight chest as I caught sight of the words atop the large stack of papers:

_"Elisabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane_

_Patient: 81395_

_Alias: Revis"_

Anxiously I looked to the door.

Dr. Crane could enter at any time and he would _not_ allow me to read such papers if he knew I had access to them—Why not? It's not as if he has something to hide...right?

I licked my lips, a million shocks of adrenaline shooting through my body as I debated what to do.

I looked down to the floor, at the envelope, when I caught the sight of another piece of paper, of thicker quality than the cheap stack I held in my hands.

Shakily, I kneeled down and placed the large stack next to the envelope as I picked up the note, made of the same thick parchment as my invitation from earlier.

_"In case you change your mind_

_227-4653"_

T-This was too much...Not now.

With clumsy, trembling fingers I placed both the profile—_my profile_—into the envelope with the note as I stood and walked to the suitcases in order to hide it among my clothing. I had barely finished zipping the suitcase when Dr. Crane abruptly opened the door, giving me a questioning look before motioning for me to follow him as we carried out luggage out and left into the night.


	59. Chapter 29: Contract

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers for your support and feedback! **

**Now this chapter is the last chapter of the second part 'Timor Et Mors' and next chapter will be the first chapter of the third part 'Iustitia' (meaning 'Justice' in Laint). Once more the chapter count will start over. I hope everything makes sense even in its flow of jibberish, if not feel free to ask for an explanation!**

**Again I would like to thank 'PurgatoryNymphe' for her wonderful help in checking over the French used in this chapter and future chapters-thank you!**

**Translations for this chapter are as follows: _a' l'amour =_ 'to love' (I know it's redundant with the English but I couldn't figure out how to use it otherwise) ; _philtre d'amour_ =_ '_love potion_'_**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 29<strong>

Disheveled and agitated, Dr. Crane and I eventually fought our way through the outpouring traffic and checked into a hotel some ways from the Lux Atlantic while ignoring the strange looks we received—or rather _I_ received upon wearing his suit coat over my dress in a poor attempt to hide the markings on my arms and neck.

In all honesty, I was tired and anxious yet I gathered up my disdain and exhaustion so as to shove it down in order to cater to the unstable mood of Dr. Crane—

Unstable mood? Dr. Crane?

Yes.

Strangely, my usually impartial psychiatrist was _very_ vexed and was currently concentrating his efforts on wearing a hole into the floor by pacing with frustration.

Every now and then, he would pause and stare at me wordlessly as I sat atop the bed before continuing to pace.

The tension in the room was smothering me...I was so tired of everything going on between us: the guilt, the anger, the confusion—I just wanted it to end.

What was the point of struggling? He wouldn't allow me to leave out of some strange, twisted sense of possessive endearment. Perhaps he imagined I would turn him in (again) or that I would somehow be robbing him the delight of using me now that his years of manipulation and mindgames have finally amounted to something useful. Or maybe...it was something deeper than that.

Perhaps he needed me.

After all, he had given me too much leverage: entrusting me with his life's work, his secrets, allowing me to run about unmediated. He had gotten sloppy, lazy, and was tearing himself apart with his mind's struggles to contain his emotions. He had grown weak, vulnerable, and it was only a matter of time before he snapped. From his irregular display of affection to the irrational anger he felt upon seeing my disguise, he was falling further and further from his prized control.

My poor Icarus...

"Dr. Crane?" I tentatively asked, hoping to delay his plummet into destruction, "Where are we going? After this, I mean."

He stared at me but said nothing in favour of continuing his agitated pacing.

Once more I questioned him, "What are we going to do? We have plenty of money, right? Couldn't we just find a house and—"

"And _what_, Revis?" he bit out irritably, turning his pent up emotions on me, "Did you think we'd go off somewhere, forget all our worries, and move into a neat little house with a white picket fence? Did you think we could escape a man like _Merrick_?!"

I frowned, "He's not important—"

Dr. Crane gave a bitter laugh, "He rules every outlet of illegal trade from drugs to human trafficking. If he puts a bounty on our heads, we would be dead before the night was through."

My eyes widened at the thought—As if things weren't bad enough!

He paused before fixing me with a bloodshot glare, "What happened in that suite? You returned pleading for us to leave but offered no explanation. I figured distance might buy us some time so that I may fix whatever you've ruined but now I demand the truth."

I shifted uneasily, "H-He just wanted to talk"

He sneered and walked toward me, "A man like him could have _any_ woman on his arm. He wouldn't resort to blackmail if he merely wanted a date—especially a private one with _you_."

I clenched my jaw, so tired of it all. First Merrick and now Crane, when would it end?

For a moment there was silence—then Dr. Crane's patience snapped.

He then ran a hand through his hair before fixing me with a calculating, suspicious look, "I will be going to a contact of mine tonight. He has the power to hide us from even Monsieur Merrick—for a while, at least. Yet this is quite unexpected so I will have to speak to him first. You—"

"—will wait here," I finished his sentence, smiling mockingly at first but then my smile curdled to a barely formed twist of my lips as I was overcome with a sinking feeling of disappointment and bitter acceptance.

His eyes narrowed, "Yes...but this time, wait for me."

Oh but I've been waiting, Dr. Crane.

It is _you_ that should learn to not rely on expectancies that I would always be there when your world crumbles and you're flung to your knees in despair. Your control, the tight leash you kept me under, has slackened causing you to slip precariously—and when you fall...

We'll be on equal standing. Then we'll see whether Fear or Death is stronger.

So consumed in my thoughts, I was only brought to reality by the slamming of our hotel door.

Dumbly, I stared at the automatically locking door feeling so tired of it all.

I was done fighting for I had no reason to struggle. He held _everything_ but even that wasn't enough.

I understood the pain of warring with oneself and the utter confusion present as doubt twisted its knives into the soft innards of one's body, but there was nothing that could solve it—Or rather _no one_ but himself.

Of course, he had too large of an ego to even think of the possibility that _he_ was the problem and so he continued to destroy himself as I watched, unable to do anything but wait for the end.

I was so tired.

Wearily rising and simultaneously forcing the suit off my shoulders, I journeyed to the bathroom and began to draw a bath. It would be awhile before _he_ returned and I hadn't enjoyed such luxuries in years.

Come to think of it, I now had the time to read the profile...

A shard of fear pierced my heart.

Did I want to know?

I once fought for knowledge, savoring every drop of damned intelligence I gained, intimate details of arcane arts—Of course, the knowledge was false, merely a creation of my mind—my _delusion_. Yet still I yearned for enlightenment, uncaring of the price so long as I was no longer naive, no longer _weak_ to the evil intentions of those wiser, more experienced than myself.

However even outside of my delusion I often frowned on others who cowered from the truth, too scared to embrace the pain that came with maturity. Yet here I was, hesitating to reveal the truth of my _reality_…but why?

I wasn't deluded. I wasn't crazy.

Dr. Crane would have told me if I was—wouldn't he?

Enough of this foolishness! I would know for certain whether or not I was sane and the exact degree of honesty that Dr. Crane entrusted me with after reading the file...but first I needed to fill the bath.

The knobs of the tub were easy to figure out and soon the rushing sound of steaming water filled my senses with a deep calm.

Tired—or was it resigned?—I took the time to slowly walk to my suitcase and shuffle through the belongings for the envelope, trying to ignore the pounding of my heart.

Successfully fishing it out I did not feel any sort of elation but only dread blooming in my stomach—No, it was the right thing to do.

Once more returning to the bathroom, I kept a careful eye on the steadily accumulating water before I opened the envelope and gingerly grasped the heavy stack of papers.

I felt as though I were suffocating—No, everything would be alright once I read the papers.

Breathing deeply, I laid the first paper on the floor while I sat atop the closed lid of the toilet.

In the beginning there were only physical examination reports, statistics, blood work results—all of it useless and confusing—yet as I flipped through the signed reports from police officers and other testimonies on my crimes I was growing irritable in tandem with the amount of papers that carelessly fell to the floor.

I glanced at the tub, noting it's 'almost yet not quite' level of water, then turned my attention back to the decaying pile of papers.

Where was it?

As one more useless paper fell to the floor revealing the dreaded papers my heart rate doubled.

Attention worn thin by the desire to simply see that I was right, that Dr. Crane had not lied to me, I skimmed the words desperately pulling the long stream of technical speech into a tangible bundle of information.

I trembled, shaking the papers as I tried to steady my mind.

"**Shows increasing measures of psychosis**—**"**

My heart painfully thrashed in my chest.

** "Extremely hostile behavior**—**"**

Only in defense!

** "Psychotic tendencies**—**"**

Sweat rolled down my neck.

** "Detachment to current events, past actions**—**"**

Detachment was normal, good even.

** "Irregular sleep patterns**—**"**

Anxiety gnawed at my insides.

** "Self-mutilation**—**"**

Just an old addiction.

**"Inappropriate reactions to pain**—**"**

My jaw trembled.

**"Frequent and intense daydreaming**—**"**

Like there was anything else to do there!

**"Disorganized thought process**—**"**

Fear jolted through me.

**"A significant lack of empathy**—**"**

Ha! That was a joke!

**"Delusi**—**"**

My eyes briefly widened at the picture painted by the horrible, lying words as I gasped, my hand clamping over my gaping mouth as I let out a dry sob. Instantly my eyes closed yet the words were clearly **burned **into my mind.

"**Delusion of grandeur concerning the image of 'Death'**—"

I shook my head, peering through squinted eyes as I stared at the sentence and those following.

N-No...

**NO!**

I fell to my knees, the papers flying everywhere some even landing in the dangerously full tub.

I cradled my head in my hands, my eyes scattering across the blurred sight of black ink against **white**.

In that moment my world shattered.

As if a dam had burst, the memories over the years rolled in front of my eyes, measuring each moment spent in a lie—a lie?

It wasn't real. None of it was real.

Curling up in fetal position, my hands deeply tangled in my hair, I let out a small wail while I tried to focus my mind.

I was slipping out of control—What control, it wasn't real.

I needed to calm myself—What for, it wasn't real.

I could step above this—For what reason, it wasn't real.

A sharp pain entered my head as I began to panic, my breath darting in and out with difficulty.

The thoughts that normally assisted me now plagued me: It wasn't real. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. It wasn't real.

Over and over the words ran through my head until I was ready to scream, vomit, slip into a rage—anything to express the turmoil within.

Such disgust, nausea...

No, the pain was worse, the hollowing ache—

No, it was nothing compared to the anger, the molten rage that filled my veins.

_How __**could **__I?!_

After everything I've been through...All the years of pain, all the tears, the sweat, the drowning, **defiling** panic—

I shook my head, dragging my nails into my scalp harshly as I tried to rationalize it all.

My breath momentarily fled me as I struggled, scraping even harder with my nails, to get a grip on myself.

I heard the splashes of water, overflowing from the too full tub, but found myself trapped, unable to move from this state of panic.

The papers grew soggy as ink blurred.

The water soon splashed over in a constant assault, the offending liquid pooling around my frozen form, wetting the once wispy fabric of the dress.

Why didn't he tell me?

H-He knew all along...but he never told me.

The water, sickening with its heat, attempted to keep me on the floor yet I was already standing up, using the slippery support of the overtaken tub I managed to hold myself aloft on swaying legs, walking despite the wet papers plastered against my dress—a reminder I could never be free of my insanity.

Frantically I searched in the mirror for some grounding sight but I was only shocked to see me—Was it me?

Who was she?

That woman in the mirror, hairline stained by tiger stripes of red, staining smidges of her light brown hair; eyes so wide, so bloodshot, so pained; that face, flushed cheeks and trembling lips; that crazed woman in the mirror...

Was she me?

I shouldn't have a reflection...This—Whatever 'I' was, wasn't real...

I wasn't real...

I gripped the edges of the sink, the dress tangling between my feet as the water flowed out the bathroom and into the carpet of the hotel room.

Flooding...I was going to drown in this watery tomb—

Yet how could I die if I wasn't alive?

That poor tremulous creature in the mirror wasn't me...

I was nothing, the aftermath of life, the marking of Deat—

**NO!**

The reflection warped and shattered as the woman, a frightened, delicate creature, opened her gaping mouth, revealing a plethora of darkness—inky vomit. The jaw snapped, the skin on the face stretched and stretched then **burst** in a gush of ash. Her eyes rolled back—

I fell to the floor, screaming in horror, before slipping against the wet white tile and momentarily catching a mouthful of water.

Scared...So scared...So alone—**afraid**—So scared.

I sputtered, crying as I clawed forward trying to pull myself up from the filthy sludge of paper and dirty, **devouring** water.

I slammed my hand down, water bursting into the air—The air was exploding!

I was wet, shivering from the chill of lukewarm swamp dragging me into the grooves in its surface, sloping grooves that would slurp me into its hidden depths, the carnivorous thirst of **WHITE**.

SAVE ME!

I wrestled to free myself despite my melting skin, droplets of crème falling into the swirling depths of the repugnant waste.

Someone please...Someone save me.

My lamentations, blurring my sight in this hell, burning my skin in grooves along my aching cheeks, as the acidic taint melted, melded, _consumed_ my body into the slop, were useless.

HELP!

**PLEASE, HELP ME!**

Dank whorls of sponged tan drank in my fingers—I had fingers?—sucking the mysteriously appearing hand into its clutches.

Madly, I wrenched myself further onto the soaked surface so different from the endless sea of **white**. Elation soaring in my veins as the mossy texture dried into tightened, twists of coarse carpet.

I would live!—What life?

I managed to scamper onto my knees, twisting the soaked fabric of the suffocating gown around my body as I flung myself further into the tilting room.

I needed to leave, to breathe, to think—I can't think. Why can't I **think?!**

Dizzily, I looked back listening to a faint whisper telling me to shut off the water, clean up the mess, and sit down calmly but the gaping maw of the door, sloshing forth a certain doom had me racing to the door—

Pain crunched in my ears like shattering glass as I felt the burn of the carpet against my bare feet—Living tendrils of HEAT—

No! I must escape!

I wrenched open the door—

Open...

Open like a gaping wound oozing the pus of light, edges pulsating with the weakened thrusts of blood circulating in the-th—The hotel was alive!

I sobbed hysterically, running through the thinly carpeted—_innards _of the beast!

A few doors opened, flaps of flesh moving, _living_ around me, as giant organisms whose function was unknown gathered around—twisting, writhing in a contorted agony as they surrounded me.

Noise like melting wax, suffocating heat, dripped into my brain—Had I a brain?

No—I needed to leave!

I burst past it all, past the _things_ reaching out toward me, through the barriers of flesh, chilled and alien, then out of some orifice and into the chilled air of night.

I shivered as the gown's gossamer wisps stuck to my skin—a thick sludge, coating my body, drowning me in tar!

I frantically clawed the sticking, moist surface eventually making tears in the goop and in my skin—NO! It would enter by the blood, mix with the maggots, and—and...

My head lolled to the side, disrupting my balance so that I stumbled into a wall of some building—or was it another creature?

The very thought wavered, fading fast as though it was being sucked down a drain.

I felt leeched. All emotions just—

Gone.

Empty—So empty...I was in haze.

I-I just needed to get away.

The streetlights like will-o-wisps, pulled me along in a drugged blur.

I pushed myself away from the building, noting the misty world: colours, shapes, sounds, and sensations all blending in a miserable swirl of nauseas, mesmerizing life.

I needed to go someplace—

What place? There was nothing here—

A passing pedestrian knocked against my shoulders, causing my world to tilt in a dizzying twirl—

_Ring around the rosies,_

_ Pockets full of posies;_

_ Ashes, ashes_—

_ We all fall down!_

What was that? A faint jogging of my memory? A distant siren's call?

_The laughter of children_—_Not a menace or haunting sound but a delightful harmony with the deep strokes of the violin as my fingers easily glided over the wooden panel._

_ Sweet innocence, such precious minds with no darkness to taint their world of sunshine __and happiness. I envied them...I loved them...These nameless children who gave me a glimpse of __a beautiful dream, one that would never become a reality._

_ And so, I continued to play the silly songs they requested, uncaring of the money if only to see their__ cherubic faces lit with joy, eyes singing with unmarred jubilation._

Happiness...My days of happiness were elsewhere—With Mr. Baker.

The swirling world shimmered for a moment before straightening out enough for me to read the signs, noting that his shoppe was only a mile or so away—No, it would be faster, with the warped reality here I would be there soon...

I smiled, travelling in a lulling waltz of dreams. Soon I would be back to wonderful mornings spent conversing over tea and sweetened breads. Mr. Baker—tears of happiness fell down my cheeks, barely impeding my sight as I walked to his shoppe uncaring of the filthy streets staining and _scratching _my bare feet with ice and muck while also tearing at my dress.

I missed him...Such a sweet old man, well more angry than sweet but quaint—

Yes, he was very quaint.

I started to sing softly, my voice rising and falling in tune with my sweeping steps along the darkened streets.

"One misty, moisty morning,

When cloudy was the weather,

There I met an old man

All clothed in leather—"

I giggled softly, the sound rising before falling under the pull of the nursery rhyme.

"All clothed in leather

With a cap under his chin.

How do you do?

And how do you do?

And how do you do again?"

Again and again, the song came through my mind, guiding me along the way, through the twisting streets, past the wary glares, and into a part of Gotham I knew and loved with every drop of elation I possessed.

Here, in this early morning, the dawn barely peeking out of the clouds in a rare display of beauty lighting the sky with a misty gold, I travelled through the curving streets into a lovely haze of wonder.

"One misty, moisty morning,

When cloudy was the weather,

There I met an old man

All clothed in leather—

All clothed in leather

With a cap under his chin.

How do you do?

And how do you do?

And how do you do again?

One misty, moisty morning,

When cloudy was the weather—"

...

Sharp stabs echoed with resounding spasms in between explosion of pain as I continued to walk, my bare feet feeling the strain of the rough, wet terrain of Gotham's smoky streets.

If anything, the pain added even more sensation to this world of grey. So consumed by the enlightening bursts of sharp glass, rough cement, and other murky debris I soon forgot the words to my special tune and settled for humming it instead.

So interesting this world was! A realm between reality and dream; nothing was solid for long before blurring into a whorl of grey and blues, the tints of yellow lights shimmering like embers in the wind.

Then the manner in which each step sent dull, drum like throbs up through my legs only complimented the sudden pain mirroring the violin's staccato and the agitation screaming like a flurry of flutes. Such a melodious thing!

Yet as the streets grew cleaner, the buildings scarcer, I knew I was near my destination.

My voice once more rose, trembling slightly as the spring chill bit my skin through the flimsy wisps of the torn gown.

"One misty, m-moisty morning,

When cloudy was the w-weather,

I m-met an old—"

I stopped, my throat tightening painfully as I saw rolls and rolls of tape cutting off the entrance to Sapling Circle.

Confused as to the reasoning behind this barrier, a strange row of buttercups among the marshy grey, I glided forward, the colours of surrounding buildings melted into a cinnamon paste. Beyond the flare of yellow pollen baring my way, I caught sight of my sacred glen.

Undeterred in this swirl of sight and sensation, I reached out to the slippery feel of the petals attempting to brush it aside however the interwoven flowers held tight—

"Eh, what are you up to, Miss? That tape is there for a reason."

I turned quickly, sirens of yellow so similar to the buttercups, flaring in my mind: Danger!

An older man stared at me, wrinkled cheeks quivering , a checkered cap pulled tight over thick curls of white hair.

The world swayed, aching brown smearing the buildings face. The sky darkened, plumes of black despair twisted and shrieked in hostility; I frowned.

There should have been light illuminating the dark corners of my heart now that I had arrived at my destination but instead the reminder of that **lie,** the lie of humanity, of reality, hardened poison saturated everything.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, cheeks glowing red with anger—_rotting _anger.

A whisper of recognition echoed in my mind before I swept it away—This man was _not _Mr. Baker.

Somewhere away from the ugly stain of this world trapped screams of anguish and blind rage rose in my throat as the claws of desperation sunk its sickled point in my innards, tearing my insides in tatters of anxiety.

"I—"

The haze of buildings and benches began to come into focus in almost jagged lines, the wilting surface of the street lamps erected themselves, colours grew stiff and rigid; reality became so sharp I feared it would shatter into shards of life leaving me in nothingness—

Wouldn't that be best? To be part of nothing? To _be_ nothing?

"Everything goes to the gutter today when that demolition team arrives—It wouldn't be safe for someone like you to be here," weary eyes took in my bared skin, _judging_ me.

Molten rage filled my veins, fueling my limp arms as I struck him. The blow stunned him yet I continued to attack this time weaving one arm behind his two in order to restrain him as my free hand cut off the blood flow from his head with a firm grip over his throat.

He struggled but he was aged, his time was past.

His eyes grew wide as he struggled to comprehend my sudden act of violence yet I only whispered to him gently, unsure if he would even hear my soft voice over the roar of pain in his head, "You remind me…and I do not wish to remember."

He heaved, his face growing blotched with panic then he fell still as his pulse receded into nothing. The moment his heart stopped I dropped him to the ground unwilling to touch him.

I turned away, aware but numbed as I walked away, forever retreating from my former comfort, my former place of employment.

I was lost.

Lost to betrayal—of both my former doctor and my former life.

Lost to myself—my mind a poison already set on killing every bit of me.

A shuddering sob arose but I cut if off with a shaking breath.

Would it be forever?

Would I never—

**You can never escape your mind...**

Not now...Please, not now.

A haze covered my eyes induced by that troublesome poison—or was this a sedative?

Could this haze be a blur of serene snow—or destructive ash?

What did it matter?

No, I could escape! I could run!

I gathered the tiresome folds of fabric, so soft they almost fell through my hands like water—

Was it the water from the hotel—

**NO!**

I let the fabric fall down once more, a rush of the silken slip across my bare and dirtied legs.

There was no point in running—

**You can never run away...**

There was nowhere to hide—

**You cannot hide...**

There was no destination in mind—

**No matter where you go...**

There was nothing to do—

**No matter what you do...**

For I would never escape—

**You can never escape**—

—my mind.

—**your mind.**

A car honked as I realized I had swerved too close to the curb, about to fall off into the filth of the gutter—

Wasn't I filthy enough?

Yet as I twisted my attentions to—to what?—A window rolled down and the expensive _limousine _honked again as it came to a slow crawl so as to match my pace.

I jumped only to look into the forest green eyes of Monsieur Merrick.

He raised a blonde eyebrow, "Did you, ah, 'change' your mind?"

I paused, my eyes lowering, fading into myself as the words sunk in, betraying a double meaning yet a faint stirring within me called my attention back to the man who incited—panic, anger, indignation, hope?

I refocused on him before nodding and mouthing the word, my voice momentarily lost:

Yes.

His attractive face was made so ugly by the molting layers of sympathy sloughing away from his energy, "Well please, join me."

A car door opened before I raised a filthy foot off the wet curb and onto the sandpaper like road before entering the car and closing the door behind me: sealing my fate.

"Ah, I cannot tell what pains me more: the state of that lovely dress or the fate of my little crow."

I stared at the black leather of the seat, uncaring to note its finery or engraved emblem (I wouldn't have recognized the car model anyway) and turned my attention to the Frenchman.

"I...I read the profile."

Silence...

Would it be silver, I wondered? A lining to the dreary, clouded state of my mind—

Or would it be golden, I feared: a testimony to the decaying, caustic motive of my opponent?

"It was 'enlightening', I trust?" he asked, eyes glittering with anticipation.

I always hated gold...even from my darkened mind its brash colour radiated wealth and danger.

"Er, does your doctor know? When you were strolling about so early, dressed like _so_, I was worried something might have befallen you."

I looked into his eyes, unaware mine had moved from his figure and once more to the black leather seats. I longed to yell at him, asking him rhetorically if the entire annihilation of my mind and deep, weeping betrayal of Dr. Crane were not something of great concern.

But I did not.

Instead, I let my eyes drift away once more, "He doesn't...Even now he is unaware I have left—"

I paused, solidifying instantaneously as I attempted to sculpt the information from the swaying current of my drowned head. How long was I gone? What time was it now? Was time of any use to me now?

Yet he did not take my abrupt silence offensively but rather continued, placing his cold hand atop mine, "You are freed, my little crow...and I hope you understand that I come bearing a paradise not a cage when I offer you once more my proposition."

I did not pull away from his touch.

What use was the strange limb he had captured? I could hardly feel myself for already I was moulded into the leather seats, lost to the interior of the car.

"Revis?" there was a tight pressure on my hand, drawing me back to his presence with a dizzying rush, "Will you enter a contract with me? I can offer you so much: safety, wealth, _revenge_, even your doctor which you seem so enraptured with. Before I was foolish to believe you were able to sever your ties but now I see you merely need ascension into power."

My eyes narrowed as I retrieved my hand with a speed my mind could not comprehend, "You're selling dreams, Monsieur..." I sneered at the word, "**poison.**"

He shook his head while shushing me softly, "Oh no, my beautiful crow! I would never! I am merely appealing to your interests yet I would not speak of that which I cannot provide," he leaned forward, his hand brushing back my short, feathered hair and stroking my cheek simultaneously, "I can give you his heart."

I shakily inhaled before twisting my gaze to his, the provocative notion filling me with an intense desire, "How."

I spoke the word without emphasis but he answered all the same, his hand trailing down to stroke my shoulder idly, "Lust is not too different from fear, correct? It is said the joy one experiences while tasting chocolate is paramount to _a' l'amour_. Surely, you may find a similar chemical or pheromone that would capture his cold heart?"

I shook my head, logic thawing my frozen countenance, "Pheromones and aphrodisiacs are not equivalent to love...Then the complexities are endless and counteractive. If I were to wear an enticing scent others would be drawn near me. If I were to give him anything like _that _he would seek out his pleasures anywhere."

The hand griped my shoulder in a comforting vice, "There are other variables: DNA, blood, all sorts of methods to personalize, to _dedicate,_ to your good doctor."

I let my head fall down, my hair shading my eyes, "I'm no chemist; everything I learned was from him. He—I couldn't do that...To lie to him, use him like—"

"Like he did to you?" Monsieur Merrick supplied softly, his words wrapping me in a silky web, "He poisoned you, Revis...Hurt you," his hand trailed down my arm, "abandoned you," his fingers splayed across my forearm, "deceived you," he gently brushed his fingers across the back of my hand before diving under to lift my limp fingers to his lips, "but you can make him pay."

I held his eyes, watching for the slightest hint of lies: there were none.

His lips brushed across my knuckles as he spoke, his breath heating my chilled hand, "You can make him _beg_ for you, falling to his knees, worshiping your body..." I trembled at the growing desire that coursed through me, "You can hold his heart in your hand, my little crow."

He gently kissed my hand, punctuating his alluring words before letting my hand drop to my lap uselessly as he pulled himself away from me, "That is, _if_ you agree to work for me."

I opened my mouth before closing it, my blank face momentarily pulled itself into a worrying expression before the unused muscles relaxed back to its usual calm visage, "His heart..."

I echoed the words, testing them out as if my breath would give it a life.

"Yes..." the blonde man smiled warmly, "It will beat for you, sing for you, sacrifice _everything_ for you—You see, he will come for you."

I lifted my head, looking at him with confusion.

"Don't act too surprised, little crow. He came once, yes? And so, he will come again. You are too precious, too dangerous, to allow freedom—or so he believes. He cannot bear to part with you yet cannot bare his heart to you either."

I swallowed uneasily but he continued, "But hold no doubt that he will come. He will want you back and it will be your job to convince him to stay. All your lodgings will be provided and your, ah, 'assistance' required only when I am in need of your brilliance...You can have everything, my little crow, _everything_."

Dr. Crane...

That monster, that tyrant, that horrid man who pierced _my_ heart countless times—Would I be able to conquer him when I was so weak, so deluded—

**No.**

I was free of the tangled briars which caged me in a tower of illusion, guarded by a twisted forest of _his _manipulations—Yet...I could not decide if my love was a shadow or a luminance.

For so long I waited for him, for his love, yet I only received anguish. He captured my heart in a wicked plot and I was helpless to do anything but suffer as he fought himself, the dragon within his mind.

Yet could I cast a new spell upon him?

"Are you in agreement with my proposition?"

"_Will you ever love me?_—"

He was so confused; tearing himself apart with his internal dissension...My poor Icarus.

_"I've proved my devotion to you time and time again_—"

What have I not sacrificed to him? He possessed me entirely—

Was it so wrong to desire something from him as well?

"_I'm the only 'test subject' to survive this long, I'm the only person you trust enough to assist you in your work, and I'm the only person __willing to love you despite your _many_ cruelties."_

Did anyone know what it took, what I had to do, in order to _earn_, to _maintain,_ my position? Was anyone strong enough, resilient enough, to survive such horrors as I have?

_"Lust...like fear, is merely a ch__emical reaction...but make no mistake that your heart belongs to me_—"

It couldn't be too difficult to conjure up a concoction for while he had never explained the sudden success of his work, I could apply the same studies and experiments I made under his sharp eye to _my _work.

"—_Who else is there for you to love?"_

_ I_ deserved his love—**Not** some dead woman.

I met Monsieur Merrick's eyes with a sombre resolve, "Yes, I will work for you and in turn you will provide me with what I desire."

A victorious smile present across his face as he leaned forward, "Good. Now, we will be arriving at my current residence in two hours' time. I believe you will have under a week to prepare your _philtre d'amour_ before Dr. Crane is successful in his search for his little assistant. I will grant you access to whatever accommodations you require, _my_ little crow."

I nodded before turning to watch the scenery of Gotham flee through the tinted glass, my mind already launching into a productive flurry of ideas and possible formulas despite my limited knowledge of the subject.

Despite my custom of commencing pensive thought with a neutral expression, I felt a dark, vulturous smile arise as the beat of my heart counted the seconds which brought me closer to my triumph.

Your heart, Dr. Crane, belongs to _me_.


	60. Chapter 1: Icarus

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers for sticking around this long and of course the overwhelming support you've given me! THANK YOU!**

**Now for this chapter I have a few points to cover. There isn't really a 'prologue' but the first half of this is a flashback, but since there's flashbacks in the flashback I decided you all are smart cookies and can read it without being too confused. If not, then please contact me and I'll try to ease any confusion. **Again I would like to thank 'PurgatoryNymphe' for her wonderful help in checking over the French used in this chapter and future chapters-thank you!****

****Translations for this chapter are as follows: _étrange_ = Strange****

****Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!****

* * *

><p><strong>C<strong>**hapter 1 Dr. Crane's POV**

"_Did you notice how ragged poor Jonathan looked?"_

I ground my teeth causing the coarse material of the straightjacket to scratch against my jaw. In all honesty it wasn't too different from the burlap of my mask yet they took that away along with my title, my power, my everything—

"_Surely someone such as yourself, who holds his reputation with much esteem, should not mistake well-earned pride and well founded ambition for conceited airs that will lead to your fall."_

Revis…It was all her fault; she was the reason for this disaster, for my downfall.

"_For you are merely Icarus, flying higher than father psychology warned—"_

My exploits into the uncharted waters of phobias, the root of all psychosis, of all _life_ even (for was not life, itself, insane?) did warrant caution, precision, but I had already mastered such tools. It was a necessity within my life to exercise caution, imbed patience, and extract revenge with deadly precision.

"_Flying higher and higher until you're ignited by the sun."_

I was glorious…I was powerful…My position was enviable and my wealth greater than others believed. I did not take pride in my large office furnished to perfection; I did not feel a rush of achievement when my wallet thickened each month but rather my joy was felt in a breakthrough after hours of pained work or the pride of walking within _my_ asylum and viewing all those therein…test subjects writhing and screaming, burning from my potions, tortured by my craft.

"_Then you'll take your fall from grace, burning brightly as an example to others who press the natural boundaries."_

My fingers flexed within their tight encasement of duct-cloth and buckles.

Oh and what an example I was.

I saw it in their eyes, alit with cocky mirth as they passed my cell. I heard it in the whispers as the word of the head psychiatrist turned patient swept the asylum. I felt it in every second that measured my imprisonment.

"_I desire to wipe that smug expression off your face and maybe do a few experiments while I'm at it..."_

It seems she met her goal; that damned mortician, a mere crazie, a worthless tool, _she_ finally succeeded in overthrowing my reign. I foolishly handed her information, lined up rows upon rows of evidence.

Normally the suffering she would experience, the anguish of knowing the truth yet remaining powerless to change anything, would only add to her misery and supply me a greater pleasure in destroying her mind to the point she wouldn't _want_ to change anything. And so my revelations were seen as gifts, measures of trust, yet it seemed there was more power in the knowledge I offered than I had realized.

Of course, that naïve officer was to blame as well. His unlikely devotion to justice, even more unlikely relation to the _investigation_, was an unforeseen variable and therefore my only flaw.

Without the 'profit' of their alliance no one would have guessed the truth of my work. They were all too blinded by their silly ideologies to realize the genius in their midst, the venomous viper.

"_Oh and Dr. Crane? I like your sweatervest."_

They were all idiots, blind and shallow in their fruitless endeavors although some showed merit.

"_Men like Dr. Crane hold the future in their hands."_

While others only unknowingly hinted at the truth without any clue as to the immensity of their obliviousness and the peril that would consequently await them.

"_I swear all that time he spends out in his office isn't healthy for the man."_

They all thought me to be a studious coworker.

"_Ah yer worrying too much, that bloke's just a backward fellow."_

An odd man.

"_He's doin' no one 'arm but 'imself."_

A fool.

"_Despite all your credentials you're not admitting to any incompetence to such a _high profile_ case, are you Dr. Crane?"_

Incompetent.

No one could predict my reign, no one would dare suspect me, the head psychiatrist, of such insidious plans for people avoid unpleasant thoughts as if misfortune was unnecessary…

Well, most _sane_ people.

"_And what does fear have to do with acting like an overconfident asshole?"_

Revis was a rather unique case, a rarity. Her mental illness rendered her unstable, volatile; her scarred past presented me with the opportunity to begin a greater experiment than I had ever conducted.

"_I blame you for everything."_

She abhorred me—

"_This is to blame as well but mainly, I blame you."_

—me, the symbol of the asylum, of her _fear_.

"_You see, I know you don't care. This is only some sick, amusing game to you but I blame you for making _me_ care."_

Her insight was at times appalling yet mostly useless considering her clouding emotions and naivety which only deepened my deception and furthered my control.

_"You've taken away everything and it means nothing to you...but you made me care, made me _open up_—"_

It was only too easy to warp her mind, blur her already frenzied emotions, and influence her every thought. She rebelled with a spirit that was quite uncommon but her status as a loon rendered any achievements to a greater likelihood of fortuitous accomplishments.

"_And I blame you."_

Her wrath was a ludicrous _joke_—until she gained power and introduced me into the very cruelties she suffered within the asylum _I_ ran.

"_Do you enjoy taunting the mentally ill? Are you so desperate to feel superior you must provoke those who have no chance of retaliation?"_

Her words were grating, her barbs blistering, yet she too was blinded and could not see beneath my mask—I ensured that _no one_ would ever be able to.

"_Did you get a kick out of playing 'hero'?"_

Her ideas were foolish, her beliefs nauseating, yet she was too weak and could not break free of her manacles—I ensured that she would _never_ be able to.

"_Is this what it is? A game? Some amusement for you?"_

When she did find the truth she used it mockingly, without any understanding of the _bite _of her words.

"_So _Doctor_, what constituted this obsession with fear?"_

Her sarcasm was unwanted—

"_Was it your own fear?"_

Her insight was unwelcome—

"_Were you bullied as a kid?"_

Her acuity unsolicited—

"_Did your parents not love you?"_

Her mockery unwarranted—

"_Is this all some attempt to control your own fucked up feelings?"_

Her folly perilous.

"_This isn't about fear it's about sanity! Did you actually think it was normal to hide away secret labs and torture others for some sadistic pleasure?"_

She, like the others, did not—_could not—_comprehend my motives, my brilliance.

"_Enough! I'm sick of your mind games!"_

She was overcome by her world: a bedlam both internally and externally for all of eternity.

"_You're pathetic…"_

She attempted to combat me on a field of wits.

"_What happened to standards in lunatics?"_

She believed she could usurp my sovereignty.

Yet she too fell to my might.

"_I-I won't tell them anything. I won't talk to anyone apart from you but please don't be mad..."_

She cowered before me.

"_P-Please don't be mad anymore..."_

She was reduced to her true nature of a madwoman, too insane to amount to anything worthwhile. She groveled for my mercy, she confessed her follies, and once more fell—but this time, she dragged me down with her.

"—_I only hate you because I am afraid of what I know...afraid of what you will do to me...especially with how I am."_

Yet I was not merciful…I would not forget her insolence or the _many_ trials to which I was now subjected.

They may have taken my toxins, stripped me of my title, and incarcerated my body but I was not defeated. My mind remained intact, my brilliance untarnished; I was not defenseless for I continued to wield the deadliest weapon within my arsenal of poisons: psychology.

"—_you're useless without your silly gas—"_

She was wrong.

"_I'm sorry…"_

Dead wrong.

…

I stared sullenly at the file upon the desk, the tan folder which usurped my mental control for a moment, throwing me back into the damned pits of Arkham.

_"Elisabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane_

_Patient: 27263_

_Alias: Jonathan Crane"_

The room was dimly lit, a haze of wood and heavy drapes blotting out the efforts of the weak sun, but I easily caught the glimmer of a smile from Monsieur Merrick.

"You are familiar with such files, no? Surely the sight of your own would not unbalance your prized control?"

I easily met his taunting gaze with a smooth face, "Was there a reason you wished to see me? I was under the impression I held no obligation to stay."

A blonde eyebrow rose mockingly, "Surely you would not decline my offer of a retreat? You have been so very busy, a vacation would suit you."

"Would it truly be a vacation if I were dependent to one of my clients?"

He chuckled before sitting atop his desk and opening the file, "I had hoped with the extent of my interest within your work I would be viewed as a close associate, of business yes, but still close."

What angle was this man playing? I was _not_ pleased with Revis' disappearance yet when I tracked her to a remote estate, three hours outside of Gotham, I was escorted to this office and then subjected to the whims of the master of trade.

I cleared my throat, "I realize my assistant has caused you trouble, I deeply apologize for her behavior and I am willing to offer you compensation—free of charge."

"Revis?" he asked, looking up as a smile spread across his face, "Oh yes my little crow…She is always welcome in my domain."

_His _little crow? What nonsense was he spewing?

I furrowed my eyebrows, "If I may offer you a free shipment—"

The whimsical man chuckled before snapping the folder shut and holding it against his leg leisurely, "I am not interested in poisons at the moment, Dr. Crane."

I waited.

He sighed theatrically, "You see I have gained quite an interest in your _étrange_ assistant and I feel no inclination to release her of her current position."

Was he holding her captive? He didn't have a motive; nothing would benefit the action for I had nothing to offer him. Revis herself wasn't an object of appeal; she was hardly worth her keep no matter her recent advancements in chemistry.

"What exactly is her current position, Monsieur Merrick?"

He held my gaze, his tanned skin glowing with mirth, "One of relaxation; a vacationer."

I licked my lips, holding in my rising anger, "Perhaps I should better explain my position. I left for a few hours just over a week ago in order to meet with a contact of mine but upon returning I found the room flooded, our luggage missing, and my assistant absent. Considering the nature of my business you might imagine my concern—and taking into account your possession of such documents, I assume you have Revis' file as well and have read its contents.

'Understand my surprise as I find Revis in a remote estate, _your_ remote estate. I was under the impression upon leaving the Lux Atlantic that the supper between Revis and yourself was…displeasing. I now find it quite curious that she is vacationing in your 'domain'."

He shrugged nonchalantly, "I did not realize you had clipped her wings, I had thought she was free to roam wherever she pleased but chose to stay by your side as a _devoted_ assistant—but now I see your dependency upon her. How quaint, Dr. Crane…"

He tossed the file at my feet, "I was not aware of such emotional attachments from your profile—then again considering your cunning and previous occupation it is not too surprising that you merely played those at the asylum in a game of _your _choosing."

I didn't rise to the bait of his words or comment on his lapse in the conversation concerning Revis' temperament upon leaving his presence, "I do not make a custom of allowing loose ends. I hope we may come to an agreement concerning Revis' actions—"

"No," he said firmly as he pushed off the desk and walked toward me, "Revis is not an issue for we have already reached an agreement. She has accepted a long-term contract which entitles both of you a life of leisure, primary trade with myself, and unlimited resources for your work."

I clenched my teeth before replying, "Revis is not in a position of power to accept such propositions—"

He smirked, "You do not give credit to the mind of a madwoman for that you are wise. She is weak by nature and near infirm due to her affliction but she is not stupid. You hold great power within your drug, Dr. Crane.

'The power of fear is catastrophic if correctly used. A small canister of gas admitted through the air vents of the ruler's bedchamber can turn an able, levelheaded man into a paranoid dictator. Mass distribution via water can terminate entire cities, perhaps countries, as its people tear each other apart in madness.

'You may not utilize your potions for such purposes but there are those who will—Not those petty thugs you began your growing business with but more powerful men. Such men are not kind of heart and will not hesitate to rob you of your formulas and murder you. You are rising in the criminal world, your reputation has begun to spread, and you need protection. _I_ can offer you that protection."

An uncommon feeling fluttered in my stomach, it was neither dread nor anxiety but rather a twist of unease as I reviewed his words carefully and came to the conclusion (the conclusion I hadn't given thought to before) of just how precarious my position was—yet Merrick wasn't a man 'kind of heart' and had more motive than ensuring my wellbeing.

"The implication of your offer demands a profit of trade solely between us, correct?"

He rubbed his nose which looked as though it had been broken and set badly, "I believe the term was 'primary trade'. You may seek out other contacts—for a hefty price—if you wish to retain ties within the criminal world but ideally we would maintain a relationship of dual benefaction. Of course, I may occasionally recommend a client of my personal choice which you will accept without question."

I was silent for a moment as I made a special promise to thoroughly punish Revis for not only her actions but the now unavoidable situation.

"You mentioned a lifestyle of leisure; would this include monetary payments or a supply of necessities?"

He furrowed his eyebrows, "My estate is your home now; there is no need to squabble over details. There will be a profit provided in a multitude of systems: monetary, material, influential…Besides I am merely informing you of the contract already signed by my little crow, there is no possibility of negotiation now."

Oh yes, she would be _meticulously _tortured once we were alone.

"Is it not a bit presumptuous for my _assistant_ to form a contract in _my_ name?"

His eyes sparkled, "Perhaps it is more presumptuous of myself in assuming you would be reasonable. I had hoped as a fellow man of logic you would see purpose in your assistant's work—She is unstable, yes. Useless, no. Women will always have a purpose especially in a man's world, no?"

I pursed my lips, "I do not seek out Revis for such services—"

He flashed me a Cheshire smile, "It is a shame…I find Revis _very_ serviceable."

I narrowed my eyes at the implication, "Monsieur—"

He cut me off, "She is so _devoted_ to her man of business, no? Oh, forgive me, her man of _chemistry._"

I ignored his comment, "I would like to speak to Revis myself."

He smiled once more, "I'm sure she would appreciate a visit from her good doctor. She seems a bit…restless when you are away."

"Do not concern yourself with the whims of a madwoman, Monsieur Merrick. I will subdue her—as her psychiatrist and mentor I am quite accustomed to administrating treatments."

The blonde man smirked, "Will you be able to contain her?"

I retained my controlled expression, "It would be best to leave all matters concerning Revis to myself."

He raised an eyebrow, "I'm afraid I cannot do that. Revis is of some interest to myself and I am not yet satisfied."

I opened my mouth to speak but he interrupted placing a bundle of soft yet rough fabric into my hands, "I shall arrange you an escort to your suite. I would be most pleased if you refreshed yourself then joined your assistant for supper. I would join you as a complimentary gesture but she has been expecting you for quite some time and I feel it would be most prudent if I were not present for your reunion."

Before I could argue against his words and the sudden reappearance of Revis' gossamer scarf the door opened and two men, no doubt armed underneath their suits, appeared beside me.

What had Revis dragged us into?


	61. Chapter 2: Sensation

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers for your wonderful support ^-^**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

True to his word, I was 'escorted' to a wing of the estate by the two men who had entered his office. Neither man spoke nor gave any inclination as to knowledge of the current state of affairs—I doubted someone like Merrick often entertained guests which then raised the question of how many men he had subdued. Yet considering his position in the world of business (especially of the illicit variety) he would be no stranger to blackmail, threats, and other manners of intimidation.

Of course my unfortunate situation was due to one flaw within my work: Revis.

She would pay dearly for all the hardships I've suffered—hardships _she_ provoked.

Yet as the minutes passed by, the hallways twisting in a tangled maze of doors and décor, I began to mould my rage into a malleable tool; it would not be wise to rush in, blinded by rage, and ruin my chance for a satisfying revenge.

I could not disregard Revis' distraught behavior upon leaving Merrick. The fact that he carefully stepped around the topic made it a greater source of interest—perhaps indicating a source of weakness. Merrick was not shy in goading me, spewing lies and innuendos, all of which were entirely fallacious and elevated his level of suspicion when considering his tight-lipped behavior concerning the events of that night—

Nevermind that, we had arrived at the door of one of the wings (the points of a compass were lost to me as I rushed to the estate upon figuring Revis' location) and I would soon be able to interrogate Revis myself.

The men merely knocked before opening the door, both doors, and ushering me inside. I didn't bother turning around to confirm the amount of privacy I would be given—the minds of those men were of no concern to me, not now at least.

Despite my impartiality toward the two men, once I heard the heavy wooden doors close with a solid 'thud' I smiled.

Now where was Revis?

The wing of the manor was tastefully decorated incorporating a pallet of colours merging unto one another with perfection. The entrance focused on contrast between the light and the dark, lightly shaded panels met plum décor, dark wood enhanced the luminance of the white carpet. Despite the pristine carpet I strode forth without care of staining its surface. Yet as I walked the spacious room shifted, the airy entrance broke off into another colour scheme which seemed lighter and darker in equal parts.

The wood began to lighten, perhaps to a chestnut instead of mahogany, while the bleached colours gave way to richer tans and pale greens complimented with gold. To my left was a set of doors, chestnut no doubt, with a small paper taped onto it and in front of me laid a hallway with expressive stripes of light blue and white conveying a theme of—the circus?

Figuring the doors to my left would have better success than continuing down the maze of the tent-striped hallway (not to mention the obvious clue of the paper) I headed that way.

Upon closer inspection the paper was written in a crude hand, one I recognized as to belong to Revis.

It read:

_"Please Enter"_

Yet when I opened one of the dual doors, I blinked in surprise to note yet another change in colours: deep tones of rich wood fell onto the room of opulent emerald draperies, black accents, and dim lighting.

This room was clearly meant to be the dining room and a luxurious one at that. Within this room I noticed a full wineglass atop the sturdy table accompanied by another note.

Once more I swept my eyes across the grand dining space before I resigned myself to entering the room completely in favour of further inspecting the paper.

The wood was new and did not groan under my weight but the room held an atmosphere of refinery only achieved over decades of wealth. A chill of unease skittered up my arms but I pushed down the feeling; I was not unnerved by the presence of a new building—even Merrick's—as so many were.

Unexplored houses did not hold strange secrets but rather unknown truths. Besides Merrick would not ambush me in this corner of the manor and while the high chance of surveillance was unappealing I knew the business man was far from the source of my mild discomfort.

In the hush of the room I approached the large table and took the note, written on thick paper, in my hand.

_"Please Drink"_

I scoffed at the message.

Did she truly expect me to rest myself upon a comfortable chair and wait patiently with a wineglass in hand while she prolonged her punishment? Surely she wasn't so senseless as to believe I would _not_ be overwhelmed by fury once I found our hotel flooded and bare of both our luggage and herself? Then when I found she had fled to the host of the meeting, _my_ client, she must have realized the wrath I would possess.

I turned around, planning to drag her out of whatever corner she was hiding in when I noticed a note on the doors (matching the same shade of the room on the inside as well).

That note read:

_"Please Wait"_

I narrowed my eyes at the offending sign.

I was not in the mood for games, especially not the type straight out of Alice in Wonderland. I had no reason to obey mysterious signs dictating my actions, signs _she_ obviously left.

Even so, I found myself discarding the scarf on the table before sitting and inspecting the wineglass warily before finally resigning myself to a drink. One glass would not impair my judgment and if she had left these notes then she would soon return and when she did her fate would take a darker turn than before.

The warm liquid soothed my mind as the rich taste left a slight tingle on my taste buds. In the low light of the dining room the feeling of unease returned in the form of the hairs on the back of my neck rising.

I took reassurance in another sip of the tasteful wine but failed to shake the feeling.

There was nothing to cause my discomposure yet I was still on edge in the silence of the—

Silence.

It was too quiet. It wasn't simply the secluded portion of the house or the finery of its design which added to the stillness but something _more_ which reminded me of the pressure one felt when walking into solitary confinement or the corridor of the intense treatment unit.

The sight of maniacs screaming silently was unmoving but once inside such cells each sound seemed muted in a way, absorbed by the soundproof interior.

Yet was this wing soundproof or merely this room? Did the silencing feature add to the regalia or impose a menacing impression of possible _uses_ for such technology?

I continued to consume minute sips of the wine, its taste only deepening my craving and adding a repetitive, productive motion externally to combat the theme of my musings.

Merrick claimed to provide protection and wealth but I sensed more at hand or rather something _underhanded_. Revis' disappearance would seem annoying at most yet allowing for small concessions on her part Revis while extremely unstable and easily triggered would not run off in the middle of the night.

She was capable of waiting at least three days; the prospect of her panicking after a few _hours_ was doubtful. Her escape seemed to be a prompted response yet taking into account her anti-social behavior and lengthy practice of pensive thought that was unlikely—Not to mention her psychosis was practically neutralized due her convenient delusion. Perhaps she _didn't_ leave but instead was _taken_.

I was not blind to the advantage Merrick and I shared concerning Revis' location. After all, her GPS tracker was a custom request which spurred our meeting at Lux Atlantic. I needed means to place security on her especially with our recent lifestyle within the drug circle and the blonde man provided many profitable conduits throughout the world of trade. The agreement was a perfect match…until Revis decided to disobey me and cause havoc within the hotel by _impersonating_ me.

Of course, Merrick figured she was an impostor—when he figured her true gender I was unsure—and so started the latest tangle of troubling circumstances derived from Revis' influence.

_"Oh yes, my little crow…"_

I washed down the bitter thought with more wine, noting the glass was almost empty.

I was not ignorant to the many references he made: her necklace which hid a GPS, a mockery of my persona 'Scarecrow', and an allusion to her profile from Arkham.

I downed the rest of the wine.

His blatant display of power, disrespect, and the thinly veiled threat invoked a mild fury compared to Revis' actions yet I would tend to Merrick later. As a man of his status he was privy to such material as patient profiles from closed asylums—how far exactly his power ran was another question but the warning was clear. In the meantime, while I assembled a sufficient stance against him, I would focus my attentions on the center of my miseries—Revis.

Agitated, I rolled up my long sleeved dress shirt and situated myself within the large chair. The wild chase to prepare for the unexpected left me out of sorts and anxious to deliver Revis' punishment—or better yet, subdue her until I was at leisure to torture her.

Yet what method should I enforce?

Mere chemicals were hardly efficient and while I would love to provoke her worst fears, and perhaps incite some _new_ ones, I had a long-term commitment to dismantling her entirely and I couldn't afford any setbacks. Perhaps I would torture her as before, in the false asylum, yet I would not be able to brush off such actions as reality.

Yet the possibilities of psychiatric torture were endless; think of merits of water-boarding! The blind panic of merely being bound by thick restraints against a cold metal surface, _literally _blind considering the sack atop her head. She would struggle, whimper, perhaps even _beg_ for knowledge, for mercy, for _something_ but I would deny her everything.

The feel of musty cloth, I found burlap to be the most efficient, against her hidden yet flushed face would no doubt instill a coughing spell as she fought to breathe clearly—but the real torment had yet to begin.

I would be silent, invisible, an unknown tormentor who would render her perception of reality null and bring no solace to her suffering. There would be the squeak of a facet—perhaps the tub or the sink—and then her distress would amplify.

Cold water would cascade down in torrents of terrible proportions; she would writhe in her bonds, screaming, sputtering, hacking, crying—yet the water would never cease.

Sound only existed in the rush of icy water and the echo of her wails. Sight was composed of flaring pain, imagined pulses of panicked light. Scent was present all around; the moist cloth of burlap would overwhelm her. Yet sensation…

Oh sensation was the unsurpassed euphoria of it all.

The metal, so biting against her back would provide no cushion to her thrashing body. The restraints, shackling her in the center of agony, would not ground her but would rather pitch her into the abyss of hell. Her flushed body would incite distress, magnifying her perception of events until even the slightest breeze—or breath—against her skin would instigate a violent yet subdued response.

Then the water itself, consuming and raging, would initially freeze her skin but her body would create a searing heat through physical exertion and fear. Next the water would merge between warm and chilling, biting and dull. Her body would remain dry until she drenched herself in sweat and possibly urine.

And her mind…Well the possibilities were _truly _endless.

Feeling slightly stuffy, I unbuttoned the two buttons from the top of my shirt. Perhaps it wasn't too wise to wear a sweatervest but I would not have to suffer long. Revis should be arriving soon and the moment she entered the room, I would overcome her—I shifted uncomfortably in my seat—and restrain her—

Why was it so warm?

A muted clink sounded as the door to the dining room opened causing my heart to jump-start with the anticipation of what was to come.

No longer tethered to the table with burdensome thoughts, I sprung up and was met with Revis' lowered head as she carefully shut the door, refusing to so much as glance at me until the door was securely shut.

Yet I didn't mind, her demure behavior did not pacify me but rather gave me time to assess the situation.

She had not changed physically since I had last seen her, even the pitter patter of bruises upon her arms, the bruises _I_ inflicted upon her, were present although mostly faded. If anything her appearance only renewed my agitation—although I could not help but wonder when she had time to secure a new wardrobe.

The sleeved grey dress falling to her knees and accented by a black belt just under her bust and black leggings underneath the dress itself, was of the current fashion yet _not_ in the season colour of spring. The clothing was new, expensive, and obviously custom ordered—

"_She is so _devoted_ to her man of business, no? Oh, forgive me, her man of _chemistry_."_

I clenched my jaw at the thought but quickly disregarded it; Merrick merely sought to unnerve me with insinuations of some affair—No, it would be a physical transgression for Revis and I held no relationship but that of business. Either way, his words were useless. No matter his 'interest' in Revis, I would sort out the disorderly state of affairs and we would once more be on our way—_without_ his 'protection'.

Revis looked toward the table but surprisingly not at me—yet before I could command her attention her eyes slid back toward me. She began carefully, "Perhaps I should explain—"

I strode toward her furiously and took her shoulders in hand as I shook her slightly, "I have no desire to hear an explanation from _you_."

She seemed rattled but instead of struggling, babbling, or something equally annoying and useless, she instead ran her fingers along my chest before slipping through my arms and embracing me.

"I'm sorry…"

I paused, briefly taken aback by her actions but she surprised me once more by stepping even closer and taking fistfuls of my sweatervest as she held me tightly not saying a word.

So enraged then thrown off balance, I stood still as my heart raced with fading adrenaline.

"Revis—" I tried to speak but I found my voice sounded tight with emotion—suppressed rage?

She stepped away from me, refused to meet my eyes, and spoke in a quiet voice, "Its late…We can talk in the morning if you wish but you should retire for the evening."

She was only two feet from the door, and three feet from myself, but in the next moment she was pinned against the chestnut wood, "Look at me!" I hissed, grabbing her face and forcing her wide eyes to stare into mine.

Blue gold eyes never seemed more appealing than they did then, terrified and saddened.

I shifted my weight to better press her against the door, brushing our bodies together as I continued, "And if I wish to talk _now_?"

She trembled, just a slight shiver, but I found myself gripped by the motion for not only was it a sign of her fear but it spurred me on in desire to produce _greater_ reactions.

"Hm?" I questioned, drinking in her weakness until I had become drunk with every frenzied beat of her heart.

"Then we—" she struggled to keep her voice from shaking, "—would talk."

Talk?

No…Talking wouldn't be enough, I needed _more. _I need her to quiver in trepidation, to beg in weeping gasps…I needed her to _scream._

She let out a pained gasp, a wince, which drew my attention to the tight grip I held her in—Why was I holding her so close?

Yet I didn't loosen my hold even when my hands began to shake with my restraint—

I—Something, was wrong.

I lowered my head slightly, taking a steadying breath but I found myself losing my poise with my body humming with energy and my mind screaming at me to break her defenses, strip her of control, take her into the depths of horror—

I jerked away from her as though her skin seared my hands.

This was wrong—My eyes devoured her, petrified by fear, bearing the marks of my fingers along her throat, against the wall…but my _hands _should be the one holding her there, forcing her deamons to plague her mind, shredding her visage to tatters.

I took two more steps back, fighting the impulsive urges, the violent lusts.

"Dr. Crane?"

My eyes flashed to her—

How could someone so worthless have so much to offer?

"_I do not seek out Revis for such services—"_

"_It is a shame…I find __Revis _very_ serviceable."_

"No…" I spat the word, more at myself than her, but then continued to address the situation, "We'll talk tomorrow—"

Before she could argue I hurried through the door adjacent to her, warring with myself to not descend upon her once more, then all but ran down the striped hallway in search of the first room I would find.

Something was _very_ wrong.


	62. Chapter 3: Bribe

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers for your wonderful support ^-^ I was blown away by the feedback and I hope I can continue to entertain you all in the future chapters as well!**

**Well for this chapter I have quotes from the comic 'Batman Year One: Two Face and Scarecrow' and 'Granny's Secret', a third-person, present tense story I wrote about Crane's real background while looking over the comic itself. My prequel 'Jonathan Crane: The Origin of the Scarecrow' was before I had read the comic and it relied on the internet as a main source of information. In order to give the character justice (although there are many versions of his origins) I wrote a 'by the book' story. However, I'm not using that canon story as the prequel. Really they're quite similar the only differences being Jonathan lived with his Granny until the end of highschool and met Madeline. I hope this explains things a bit better ^-^**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

The morning came but I found myself lacking my rage.

The reason? It began with the uncomfortable sensation of an erection.

Such an occurrence was not too unusual for any healthy man yet I felt greater ire toward my own anatomy than toward my assistant.

Upon sitting in bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and attempting to keep my thoughts from the rigid flesh straining against the slacks I had been too overwhelmed in to take off last night, I heard Revis speak.

"Dr. Crane!"

Her words were bright and cheery, quite odd considering our latest 'talk' yet I felt a flash of panic at her presence while I was in such a…condition.

I cleared my throat before arranging myself, still seated, in such a manner that the thick duvet masked any inclination of unease about my person, "Revis," my voice sounded huskier than I had intended causing me to pause briefly before continuing at my normal tenor, "While we were to talk today, I didn't expect you to begin the moment I awoke."

She blinked in surprise then flushed, "I-I didn't…I mean, I was out this morning and only just returned."

"Returned?" I questioned, feeling slightly ridiculous that I was unable to properly take a stand against her and was forced to belittle her from the safety of a bed.

She nodded and self-consciously brushed her fingers across the back of her head, "Monsieur insisted something be done about my hair, I hadn't given much thought to it but I didn't see much point in refusing."

I narrowed my eyes, unable to detect a difference in her appearance, "I intend to speak quite _thoroughly_ with you about the 'Monsieur' in question—"

She raised an eyebrow, "While still in bed?"

I clenched my teeth but before I could respond she continued, "You should at least shower first, there's a wardrobe filled with suits and things like that just over there—" she pointed in a general direction of the room, "Here, I'll even get you some towels."

Before I could argue or question her strange servile behavior she turned around and quickly left the room but not before I noticed the absence of hair on the back of her head. From the front her hair seemed untouched but the back was closely cut. If one had only a glimpse of the back of her head, she would be mistaken for a man.

Almost as quickly as she left, she returned bearing a plush towel, neatly folded, "There's even a heated towel-rack if you want to warm it…"

"Revis?" I asked unsure exactly what I was questioning.

She froze, her eyes widened with terror for a split-second before relaxing, "Yes?"

"We _will_ talk later."

I spoke very solemnly yet I accepted the towel she was offering and carefully used it to mask my unseemly ailment as I calmly fled in search of the bathroom.

…

When I was showered, collected, and dressed anew I sought out Revis in the maze of the manor's wing. Yet when I did not find Revis in the bedroom, I found myself unsure where to check next.

Randomly bursting into every room I came across was foolish and unseemly, yet waiting in one room was equally frustrating. Revis had only been here for little more than a week and she managed her way well enough around the estate—How difficult could the layout be?

However, before I was able to so much as take a step to leave the difficult woman in question entered the room.

She didn't bother to justify her appearance—quite unusual for someone so unsure of themselves—but instead waited for me to begin.

My eyes darted along the finery of the room with suspicion before starting, "We should leave..."

"But why?" she asked with as much innocence as someone of her history was capable of, "We have everything here: a steady income, a place to live, food to eat—Why bother leaving all this?"

My gaze sharpened, "I do not enjoy living under the management of another. I could easily provide all that we have here. There is no reason to unnecessarily bother my client."

She shrugged nonchalantly, "It's merely a form of payment—quire generous, indeed, but merely that."

I scoffed before walking closer, sneering down at her, "Really? Because to me it seems more like a _bribe_."

Before she could recover from my lashing words, I left the room; leaving the echo of a slamming door in my wake.

What could Merrick have possibly done to have her so compliant—so _loyal_?

He's had her for hardly any time at all compared to my extensive years of manipulation, surely she would agree with me no matter the threats Merrick alluded to or the petty treats she was entitled to here.

If I had known of Merrick's intentions (as hidden as they were I knew their content to be nothing profitable) I would have never approached him with a request of custom jewelry containing GPS technology let alone accept an offer of business.

I did not care for the wealth my trades brought, money was a necessity but not a pleasure of mine. Now there would be no escaping him—Even if I were able to leave this manor with Revis there would no doubt be a ban on my products or worse yet a bounty on our heads.

That was the power of Monsieur Merrick…

"Dr. Crane!"

I paused in my angry pace to peer down the circus-esque hallway at Revis' hurried approach.

"Please, Dr. Crane!" she implored once more, grasping my arm as she continued, "Listen to me. You feel caged here, I know, but really you're not. He's dependent on _you_. Here he is offering money, an expensive lifestyle, protection from others who would _kill_ you—and all you can do is throw fits because _you_ were unable to successfully do everything _he_ is able to.

'Look where we've been—hiding out in abandoned neighborhoods, poorly covering our tracks…" she paused to take a deep breath, "All he asks is for you to make him poisons…he's simply another customer but one who pays a far greater price for your wares than anyone else. You could poison him and be done with him forever, but where would we be?

'Hiding in hijacked houses? Struggling to meet our needs without being captured? Forever at each other's throats, fighting out our petty battles? Here we have no want of money, no want of food, no want of anything. You may study in the libraries, concoct new toxins with an unrestricted supply of chemicals—anything you want to do, you can and with no worry of where you will sleep, what you will eat, and if you'll be free another day. Please Dr. Crane…be reasonable."

Her logic was misleading and she was probably regurgitating whatever nonsense Merrick had fooled her with in the hotel; however, my anger would only strain the situation to the point of breaking…and although I had her under my control—each heartbeat was testimony to that—I wasn't so sure she would stand beside me should the choice arise.

Should my life be in danger, she would defend me vehemently and without hesitation—of that I was sure. Yet since she believed my life would be threatened if we were to leave, she wouldn't so much as shake her head in disagreement if Merrick pronounced his offer again.

Nevermind her devotion, I found her ease with the situation, with such indulgences, to be unsettling. She never showed any disdain for a humble lifestyle and when I offered her that necklace she sneered in my face, unamused by material efforts to cajole her.

She saw more worth in sentiment than material; she was swayed by visionary influence not monetary influx and it seemed I would be forced to appeal to her tastes should I retain her unquestioning support.

I didn't remove her hand but instead rested mine atop her shoulder; she seemed startled by the contact but didn't move away, "You are young and inexperienced—too dependent on others to realize that this is no luxury. If we were to stay here, he would never hesitate to increase his demands, even to unrealistic means.

'We cannot live under his control for the rest of our lives; this is not a permanent solution but a temporary answer. Here he controls every aspect of our lives, I refuse to subject myself to his whims no matter the gilded shine of his offer—And make no mistake, it is gilded. Merrick is not a noble man, Revis."

She let her hand drop as she bowed her head whispering, "Neither are you…"

I exhaled with irritation but she moved forward unexpectedly and kissed me.

The contact was brief but passionate and just as suddenly as she started the kiss, she ended it yet refused to step away from me despite the promise of a violent reaction, "Think of this, Dr. Crane…Would he allow you to leave?"

I stared into her eyes, so close to mine, while I felt her body brush against me.

Had she truly lost all fear of me?

Yet before I could reprehend her, I thought of the truth of her words…

We couldn't leave, not yet.

I licked my lips, already planning ahead when the flavor of guava caught me off guard.

Was she wearing lip gloss?

Upon looking at her lips I noticed she was. Her face was bare of makeup except for the gloss upon her lips, tasting of tropical fruit—

An irrational desire threatened my usual conduct as I felt the desire to once more sample the exotic fruit.

I pushed Revis away—or so I tried to but I found my hands unable to leave her shoulders after I put the distance of a foot between us.

Eager to experience the flavor again, my tongue once more subtly tasted my lips.

Vigor filled my veins with lusts I would never dare to bring to a reality—No matter how willing she would be.

I exhaled harshly, a low growl escaping my lips as I tried to—

Before I could restrain my urges, Revis pounced on me forcing me into the wall as she pressed against me intimately. Our lips battled trying to usurp the other.

I managed to push her away so she was in the middle of the hallway while I was left breathing heavily against the wall as I fought to clear my dazed head.

Yet she wasn't deterred, "Dr. Cra—"

Once more we were locked in an embrace yet now she was trapped as I caged her in my grasp.

Her voice…so full of want—

I groaned, allowing my hand pull her tightly against my body.

What was so enticing about guava lip gloss?

Yet as she returned my touches, eagerly and lustily, I soon forgot everything.

My heart pounded.

My breath was scarce.

My stomach twisted with the sensation of rapidly changing heights.

I closed my eyes in an emotion too dangerous to name as I wondered:

Would I ever stop falling?

…

I watched Revis.

She was lying on her stomach; her arms were folded under her head as she closed her eyes in a mock-slumber, only tensing muscles and a flickering smile betrayed her.

I stroked the bare skin of her back carefully avoiding the scars as I wondered idly if she would be able to read my past from this touch—or the previous touches we exchanged.

She had never explained the limitations of her 'talent' and I had never asked yet that was to change considering our latest actions.

Sexual intercourse with Revis…

Such an absurd notion would have repulsed me normally but I felt not the tell-tell twist of my gut or the prickling sensation of anger.

Her ideals of love were sickening, her whimsical nature annoying, and her general presence intolerable…

So where was the attraction?

Fear.

That single emotion had haunted me since a child; it spurred me on in moments of despair and now followed in my footsteps—more acquainted with myself than my own shadow. I did not feel fear, it was beneath me. I had conquered my inner deamons and now forced others to fight—or succumb.

Revis was an interesting specimen, my greatest project, a useful tool…and quite _satisfying_.

My recent surge of hormones was troubling but not unwanted. Considering the current situation within the manor, my physical concession would be seen as agreement not a strategy.

Oh but strategy it was…

"Have you ever killed, Dr. Crane?" Revis murmured, her eyes lazily opening.

I stopped my caresses, "Yes."

She fell silent.

The tense atmosphere heightened until she broke the stillness, "How many?"

I placed a hand atop her back, just in between her shoulder blades, and pressed her into the mattress, "Why do you ask, Revis?"

She struggled to rise but I merely shifted so I was atop of her, pinning down her legs as well.

"I-I was just curious—"

I nipped her shoulder blade as it projected from her back.

Without any hesitation I shifted my weight once more while simultaneously parting her thighs, my erection prodded her as a hint of what was to come.

"Curiosity does not suit you—" I thrust myself inside of her, feeling the aftermath of our previous coupling but not pausing.

She was mine to possess, mine to control, and mine to destroy…

To better support my body and deepen my reach I pinned her struggling hands into the mattress, channeling all of my weight into my grip and all of my energy into my _engaging _lesson.

She struggled to keep herself silent but it was obvious to see she was sore.

Good.

_The room had a sacred air of peace, as if the world could not touch this sanctum; only time might mar the scene with its colonies of dust and cities of cobs._

I barred the offensive thoughts from my mind, trying to ground myself within her body—

_Gingerly, I pulled the book from its brethren as I trailed a shaking finger down its leather face. I opened the book and began to read the enlightening text titled: "_Advanced Chemistry_"._

I tightened my grip upon her wrists, delighting in the strangled yelp she admitted.

Yes Revis, _scream_.

I leaned down, my sweating body sliding against hers as I slowed my hips and began to a new torture, "Twenty-four…" I whispered in her ear allowing her to hear my hot breath as loudly as possible.

She sucked in a rough breath—at my words or my actions I was unable to tell.

"—with the exception of my test subjects and hired help."

"_What happened to you, Crane? You were my best student, your future bright with promise—"_

"_What _happened_ to me? What _**happened**?"

"H-How?" she asked, frozen in my embrace.

I jerked my hips harshly, pushing into her until she screamed at the strain.

She whimpered as I pulled out slightly, I felt her shake at my touch but rather than comfort her I slowly filled her once more—her internal spasms clenched around my member causing me to groan in approval.

"_The vote is eight to none in favor of dismissal. However, in light of Mr. Crane's excellent record preceding this unfortunate event, I'm willing to consider clemency—If any faculty member can come to his defense."_

_Silence._

"Why should I bore you with the details?" I asked mockingly before hastening my pace and banishing the memories from mind—

"_Is there anyone who will argue the charges leveled against Mr. Crane? Professor Pigeon? You were the young man's mentor…"_

_Silence._

Harder. I wanted her to break.

_I held the chipped mug to his lips, tilting the contents into his struggling mouth, "__**Drink**__ it, father. Drink _all_ of it. And see if your pathetic God bothers to intervene."_

She was crying out against my punishment, thrashing uselessly—but she had yet to _beg_.

"_**Get them off me! GET THEM OFF!**__"_

"Dr. Cra—"

_"__**Filth**__. Sooo like your mother, aren't you? I believe it may be time we paid the _chapel_ a visit—"_

_"—Granny, please!" I pleaded in vain; she would never be merciful._

"—_**Please!"**_

_Loud echoes of my stinging palm against the rough wood of the bolted door filled the decrypt chapel, "Don't __**do**__ this! Please, don't do this __**again!**__"_

I exhaled sharply, redoubling my efforts until she was in no position to talk—In fact, she was in such a position she could only receive whatever _I_ dealt.

Her screams rose in agony; her body flushed as she tightened around me with such an intensity a shudder ran through my body as my heart rate increased. I could feel its beating in my head.

Her screams…_echoed mine._

My thrusts…_mirrored the birds' furious wings._

Sight, sensation, thought, memory—all flared brightly before dimming into nothingness.

Spent and loathing, I disentangled myself from her shuddering, sweating body taking note that she hadn't received any pleasure from our lesson, her punishment, as she crossed boundaries. It was quite fitting for her _'curiosity'_ was at fault; not I.

Her voice rose and fell in a cracked sob, a purely unconscious action for she knew I would feel nothing for her pain and her cries would only incite a more malicious punishment.

Normally I would linger, imbed tainted memories and twist her bleeding heart further by presenting her with one last sentiment—a whispered lie of affection, a gentle kiss upon her cheek—but I felt only revulsion with her sniveling form and weak visage.

"Dr. Crane, please…"

I paused.

_"Granny, please!"_

I left her there…

Beaten and frustrated; discarded and _used._

Just like me.


	63. Chapter 4: Nectar

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you fantastic readers and reviewers for your support and questions. **

**S****peaking of which 'Megushie' asked a wonderful question about Crane's past relationships/sexual experiences. Crane's first 'relationship' (I feel hesitant to use that word) with Madeline was hardly anything at all and certainly not sexual, his other experiences in college and even at Arkham were sexual in different degrees but none were serious. Revis is by far his most complex 'relationship' (once more I feel VERY hesitant to use that word) and only recently has turned sexual. You're right about Crane's perspective on relationships. Later on in the story you'll read much much more about his past experiences but I see no harm in vaguely answering your question-You just asked it long before I would have explained it so kudos for you! ^-^ I hope this helped!**

**Next I would like to once more thank 'PurgatoryNymphe' for her wonderful help in checking over the French used in this chapter and future chapters-thank you! **

**Once more **I**** do not mean any offense to the French people or French language I'm merely poking fun at the stereotype of dramatic French people and as you all will see his actions are an act that he exaggerates. Please do not think that I'm discriminating against a race of people or their language, Merrick is really an interesting character with hidden depths that will be revealed later on.****

****Translations for this chapter are as follows: _philtre_ _d'amour_ =Love potion****

****Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!****

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4 Revis POV<strong>

I paused, staring at the microwave in the kitchen of the north wing as I stopped its radiated rotation yet made no move to open it.

My eyebrows furrowed as the faint call for milk echoed in my mind but I was fighting a war to move.

"Do we put milk in hot cocoa?" I asked softly as my eyes searched along the edge of the polished counter as if the answer was inscribed on its marble surface.

Dr. Crane walked toward me from his post around against the island counter, lured by my voice; he refused to allow me out of his sight nowadays.

"Do we put milk in hot cocoa?" I repeated, my voice constricting slightly as I tilted my head, straining to hear an answer as the thoughts whirled in my head, doubts fighting memories and memories creating doubts.

"Revis, I'm sure your—"

"No—_Do _we put _milk _in hot cocoa?!" I was breathing heavily, my mind splitting in two, the pulsing brain matter throbbing as I wove myself together in a pattern of insanity—NO!

"Perhaps the milk would act as a creamer yet I am not familiar with the practice—Is everything alright, Revis?" he replied, mocking me, as though I were some helpless child who needed constant attention but I found myself unable to move as I was too busy reassuring myself to react properly.

Milk in cocoa. Milk in cocoa. We _do _put milk in cocoa.

I straightened out my odd posturing as I went about securing my desired cup of cocoa, milk and all, while ignoring his curious stare.

Things seemed to be a lot more difficult now that I was…_aware_ of my 'condition'.

_Psychotic Depression_.

I knew I was crazy, at least in a strange way, but to know that I was actually _insane_ with a clinical illness…I felt the need to ask Dr. Crane for a straightjacket and some pills.

I should know how dangerous my delusions could be—I had almost assaulted, maybe even killed, two men at a bar when I was just fifteen and searching for blood at night in a ludicrous attempt to control my 'inhuman' urges. That itself was a blatant sign of lunacy but apparently I was blind.

No not blind; I had disciplined my mind, frozen my emotions, and maintained a balanced mindset—a bleak, repressed mindset—for over six years. I had my bouts of insanity, I couldn't just wish away my pain, but they were very few and very far in between.

The hallucinations were always worse when I was free of a delusion; I fought many years to control my mind from the onslaught of mental attacks with only mild success. The horror of watching my world warp became a sick reminder of my past yet I soon began to manage.

What use was there in fearing the unthinkable when I knew it would be a consistency within my life? I grew to gauge the level of severity and eventually suppress all but the least imposing. Perhaps that was why Dr. Crane's poisons had such a limited effect on me or perhaps because his toxins brought back painful truths, I was indeed tortured.

My heart sank as I seated myself atop the bar stools on the other side of the island countertop and began to drink.

He knew…

After all, he was the one who diagnosed me.

_Psychotic Depression_.

Did he understand what this meant? He knew the textbook explanation, of course, but had he any idea what it felt like to _live_ with it every day?

I glanced into the mug, gauging the exact amount of cocoa left when my eyes traced the

'waterlines' left by the receding liquid, the foam (or milk?) making imprints in a looping fashion.

Up, down, break, wave, dive, blank, smear, smear, up, down, break—

Fear burned in my veins, catching my breath as I momentarily stared at the markings, forgetting the small amount of liquid in the bottom in favour of attempting to decode the odd marks—

I tore my eyes away, swallowing harshly as I berated myself. There was no hidden message in the stray markings of a hot beverage—

My gaze slid back to the inside of the mug, contemplating, berating, hesitating—

"Revis? Is there something wrong with your drink?" Dr. Crane asked tightly as if he was expecting something abnormal but unsure of its true properties.

I shook my head, my hair falling into my face before I timidly brushed it back behind my ear—until I realized a lock of hair was too short to do so.

Panic flared, casting bright _white _sirens in my mind as I replayed the notion over and over in my head: my hair was too short, my hair was too short, my hair was too short, my hair was too short—

I broke away from the rambling section of my mind as I stood, forgetting my fears and finishing the last of the drink (trying desperately to avoid the sight of the markings along the inside of the mug and the thick sludge left on the bottom) before taking my mug to the sink and setting it inside.

In actuality, the strand probably belonged to the shorter layers in back and slid forward with my bowed head but that didn't stop the panic…the irrational, _insane_ panic.

I then began to wash my dishes trying vainly to ignore his stare drilling into me. Well it seems his uncomfortable scrutiny brought a more pressing matter to mind: how to capture his heart.

I was too overwhelmed by my mind and the vast amount of information I would have to attain, understand _thoroughly_, and utilize which left me with petty attempts to pacify him with aphrodisiacs slipped into wine or mixed into lip gloss.

I shuddered, remembering last week as he—

I finished my deed and dried my hands.

Lust was _not_ equal to love.

I tightened my hand on the wet metal of the sink's edge as my breath caught in my throat and my body temperature rapidly increased.

Those emotions…

As his hands forced me down, the fading bruises encircling my wrists were reminder of that, he shared part of his mind—a part I would have never thought he possessed had I not relived those moments as he did.

He stood behind me.

I felt the warmth of his body, an inviting safety, while my senses were (rightly) on edge, telling me to flee from this sadist.

Yet I only leaned back, meeting his hands halfway, "Dr. Crane…" I murmured.

I fell into his chest fully, uncaring of his reaction as I tentatively laid my head upon his clothed collarbone.

His breath hit the nape of my neck, heightening my nerves till each one was alit with adrenaline—_Run!_

I felt his hands with fingers so long clasp my arm just shy of my shoulder—_Escape!_

We remained locked in this embrace, so bare yet so consuming; the slightest step would break the enchantment but I found myself in too deep a thrall to even speak.

His free hand unexpectedly curled around my hip, fingers falling in a chilling pattern against the fabric of my dress—_Flee!_

There was a stillness in the air—a stagnant rot of energy which ate away at my heart.

Lust was _not_ equal to love.

In the moment he pressed his hips into the small of my back, alerting me to the presence of his arousal, I became motionless.

If I trembled, in fear or want, he would shatter the silence and take me—willing or not.

Oh how I yearned to plummet into his sinister promise. It wouldn't be that difficult, just small reaction: a shudder, a gasp, a moan.

No.

He did not love me; he _could_ not love me. If I were to allow him to exploit my body I could expect nothing but an empty gratification, a lusty torture—and torturous he _would_ be.

Full of composure, a mere mask to conceal my internal turmoil, I stepped away.

"Revis…"

Internally I moaned at the dark, _lusting _tone of his voice.

Why did I have to lace his coffee with an aphrodisiac?

"I'm going to visit Monsieur," I whispered, hardly daring to breathe.

As if I had dropped a match onto gasoline—He ignited.

"**No**."

I remained standing away from him, refusing to look into his eyes—knowing I would be powerless if I did.

I felt his energy spike, burning in an inferno of rage, but his voice was controlled and punishing in its own way.

"I would like to discuss the terms of our stay," my voice did not waver but I felt the air in the room to be too scarce.

I felt more than heard him take a step toward me, "You will remain here."

Gooseflesh chilled my arms despite the long sleeves of the black cotton dress.

"No," I flinched although he did not yet touch me, "I need to talk—"

A heavy sludge of apprehension filled the air, "I said, '**No**'."

Tremors rang through my body with violent spasms; I was losing sight of the situation—these levels of fear were unusual even around _him_.

I felt his shadow fall over me; those unseen pale eyes impaled my heart.

No, I was losing my mind.

I whined, the high pitched noise escaping my throat before I could suppress it; the air filtering through my lungs in uneven amounts.

His hand grasped my shoulder, not even closing around it entirely before I crumpled to the ground, a scream tearing through my throat.

H-He—No, he'd hurt me.

My hands cradled my head as I rocked on the floor, dry tears wracking my chest with strangled sobs.

It hurts! The pain—

"Revis."

Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. There's too much pain! It **burns—**

Vaguely I felt him kneel beside me.

Stop burning me! Please, STOP!

He rested his hand upon my back, scalding me further as I quaked in spastic motions.

It hurts! No. No. No. No.

I felt his voice, deep and menacing, at my reddened ear, "This is why you obey me—You cannot escape fear; you cannot escape _me_."

Please! No more!

Mercifully he left but my mind was far beyond responding to anything—I needed to control myself, I couldn't stay like this!

Yet I could not move for fear of dissolving into chaos and I could not open my eyes for fear of warping my reality—I was stuck in a void.

However, that void too fell apart.

It began with his footsteps, returning to my torment yet it ended with a strange mist and a mocking voice.

A chilling shriek filled the empty chasm of my senses until all I perceived was _fear._

"Yes Revis, _scream._"

…

I entered his office near midnight, shaken and scarred—

That was _not_supposed to happen.

Dr. Crane had only allowed me to leave after hours of suffering yet I was too traumatized to do anything but curl up in his lap, holding onto him as though my world would fall apart without him—and it probably would. Only when he had chided me for my childish behavior and left to shower did I remember my original plan.

Afterward he returned to the large bed and motioned for me to do the same yet as he fell asleep on his respective end (muttering about the absurdities of an entire wing holding only _one_ bed) I did not. Silently I slipped away and silently I would return.

"M-Monsieur—" I cursed myself for my wavering voice.

"Ah Revis, what ails you?"

He hurriedly rolled down his sleeve, and whisked the empty syringe bearing strains of an acid green liquid into a drawer of his desk.

He was taking Thrill?

"Pardon?" I asked, shakily making my way toward him.

"You are bothered, no? Yet I hope it is not your internal deamons that plague you—I have no time for the silly musings of malady."

I paused, tears filling my eyes.

Was he really so different from Dr. Crane?—No, I wouldn't even start to compare the two.

"Actually, it is _him _that I wish to talk to you about. He...It's not going according to plan."

He smiled as he neared me, "The beginning will always be rough—"

"He—" I faltered and took a deep breath to steady myself.

Yet the Frenchman only looked bored as he continued, "You once refused me in a dance of wits. Surely it would not be of too much trouble to now accept my offer?"

I opened my mouth to decline but he already gathered me in his arms.

Damn that drug! I did not need a jubilant Frenchman at the moment!

I exhaled heavily, struggling to move when he spoke, "You and the doctor are stuck in a dance, no?"

I halted in my protests.

"Yet all dances must end one way or another..."

I shook my head, "I don't dance, I don't know—"

He nodded, "You are correct. You didn't know how to dance such a dastardly dance with such a terrible mastermind as your doctor. At first you struggled to keep up but you could scarcely keep your head about you," he then began to move in wide sweeping steps that I struggled to match but more than often stumbled or jerked uneasily in his grip, "Your attention was elsewhere, consequently you continued to struggle."

He paused to better gather me in his arms, his hand clasping my reluctant one. Unwillingly I began to see into his life—

_Laughter filled the night air but smoke obscured my gaze. The cloying smell of my cigar would cling to the room, the curtains, the _bed_, and leave a reminder of her debts..._

_You shall not escape me yet_—

I struggled to tear myself away from him, both his mind and his touch, but he persisted.

"Yet he stopped to show you the steps to your dance—This was not out of kindness, but out of cunning. One long step, two short steps, across the floor you went."

All the while he was talking and giving out instructions I barely comprehended, I attempted to follow yet his psyche pulled me in—

_"Lock him up!"_

_ "No!"_

_ "Listen to_—_"_

_ "Hold your tongue! You are a traitor to—"_

Desperately I sought to escape him but I found myself entranced and soon enough his thoughts flowed smoothly throughout my mind as my footsteps echoed his.

"See, you grew competent at this dance as you do now but when two dance partners are matched there must be an end. The moves grow bolder—"

He broke off to run his hand up my side, blurring the waltz into a seductive tango.

"The footwork sharper—"

His feet began to take a dizzying pattern I miraculously kept up with—but for how long?

"The stakes higher—"

He spun me out with great flourish before dipping me so that I was only standing by a precarious balance.

"Here is the struggle, the _coup_, for only one of you will be able to succeed the other!"

I stared up into his passionate green eyes, his face flushed with life despite the marring feature of a crooked nose yet my concentration was shattered as he lifted me up so we were tightly embracing one another.

"Here is the moment, here is your predicament. Do you allow him to conquer you?"

He pushed me back yet hooked his leg around mine to keep me standing while my spine arched toward the ground painfully. His hands kept a tight grip on my ribs, the heat burning through the fabric of my soft dress yet thankfully his innermost thoughts were hidden once more.

"It is too easy to allow him to move you, but when you take control—"

Overwhelmed I jerked out of his touch, stumbling and barely catching myself against his desk.

"Stop!" I gasped.

I didn't risk Dr. Crane's anger (_again_) to sneak into his office only to be molested!

He honed in on me; whispering huskily as his hand caught mine in a restrictive hold, "He will struggle, challenging your position, forcing you into compromising positions—"

He leaned forward causing me to arch back yet the desk impeded any true escape; the lower he bent me, the closer we became.

I found myself disoriented and my defenses crumbling—Why was he touching me like this? Why was I allowing it?

"Yet can you out outwit him, Revis, or will he dominate you?"

For a moment he paused then he stepped aside, his hand catapulting me away as I tumbled to the floor in a pained pile of limbs.

Flushed and outraged, I glared at him with burning cheeks yet before I could rip him to shreds for his violating touch, he continued to speak while smoothing down his silken button up shirt.

"You flee from his touch, you cower from his call, yet you insist that you love him? Is love not a passion unto itself?"

Glaring headedly, I spat at him while lifting myself up from the floor, "Love is not a game to be played between the sheets, _Monsieur_—"

He chuckled, "Oh my little crow, how simple-minded you are! Surely you do not believe that love is simply a sentiment to be kept in a box in the other's chest? Love is life: it is rough, it is dark, and it is consuming...

'You wanted his heart, I've given you the means to secure it—but do not come to me with petty tears in your eyes when you realize that his heart is as empty as his pale eyes and his love holds a chill even worse than his gaze."

I ducked my head, "I did not imagine a peaceful love or expect him to become a different man—"

Once more Monsieur Merrick laughed, "Oh my, you truly _are _blinded! Do you fool yourself into believing that you even _know _what type of man, your doctor is? Can you claim to have received his closest confidence? Are you in possession of his most scarred memories? Has he given anything to you but poison?"

The words stung but I merely grasped my necklace, the crow felt like a brand, searing me for my stupidity, "He has given me his ear for he now will listen as I speak. He has given me his knowledge for now he will allow me to work beside him. He has given me a love that I only wish for him to accept its existence and return my sentiments. He has given _me _more than anyone else in his—"

The blonde Frenchman sighed, "—And yet you have nothing...He does not take your word seriously, you are nothing but a madwoman to him. He does not trust you with his work for he does not explain it or the reason for its design but merely gives you the bare minimum to assist him in menial tasks. He has not given you a love, that is your gift to him which he has rejected on numerous occasions...You do not deserve his love, my little crow, if you cannot fathom why he shields it from you."

I exhaled, hating his words for they held only truth. Unwilling to stay a moment longer I journeyed to the door but his voice stopped me halfway.

"You claim to love him...You think that because you can describe the exact shade of his eye or appeal to his taste in chemistry that you know him yet you are just a vain woman too afraid to experience _true _love."

I panted, gripping the wood on the white door tightly.

"What have you done to earn his confidence? What have you done to earn his love? Nothing..."

Exasperated I called out, still refusing to turn, "I've given him _everything_!"

I heard his chuckle, the sound holding a deranged quality, "You have only given him aphrodisiacs—not a true _philtre_ _d'amour. _He will take your body buthe has no use for you as you are—broken and bitter...

'You offer him the dead blooms of your heart and the brambles of your trust. You offer him pain and torment should he attempt to offer himself to you. He is cold, yes. Yet you offer no warmth to soothe him—"

I slammed my hand against the wood and turned around furiously, "He is the one who lied to me! Entrapped me in a sick mind game and continuously ran me through with his harsh words—"

"What makes you any different from everyone else, hm?" he asked, his green eyes growing wild as his posture stiffened, "You offer nothing but judgment and suspicion—and if you claim to give him an open mind then you mistake blindness and stupidity for empathy.

'You were only eager to protect your own blackened heart no matter the miseries you would expel onto others. Tell me, little crow, how many times have you speared his heart? How often have his blue eyes, mirroring the hue of his soul, tightened into a twisting coil of veiled anguish?"

I paused, gazing toward the floor as I thought over my time spent in his presence, always on guard and hostile...Not to mention the overflow of paperwork I must have racked up with my antics then my biting words, using whatever leverage possible to mock him or degrade him. It was my only chance to breathe in his restricting reign—the reign he kept over everyone.

He was arrogant, he was cruel, he was sadistic...But later I loved him. I let him spear me as much as possible without any rebuttal except for his misdeeds against the dead—but never once did he share the reasoning behind his methods, the motive for his deeds...and I had never thought to ask.

Even when I mentioned my experiments he showed interest, perhaps it was only to better gauge my insanity or to easier manipulate me, but he still inquired as to my reasoning.

What have I ever asked of him?

I shakily questioned his pursuits toward myself, fearing the worst…and receiving it.

I inquired as to the nature of his affections and the possibility that he might return my sentiments…in return, he left me devastated.

In the beginning I mockingly asked him the reason for his obsession on fear…and while I received no answer, I have learned to _never _ask again.

Then just a week ago I asked him of his deeds, questioning if he had ever slain…and I still shuddered at the memory of his rebuttal.

If Monsieur was correct then he was in no place to honestly answer—and why would he?

I was just a wayward patient, a meddlesome woman, just another passing face in his lonely life.

The Frenchman neared me yet left about four feet between us, "You may have survived living with him, a feat that is nothing to scoff at for even I know that he is a difficult man...Yet you have not even begun to love him and you have given him no reason to treat you different than an irksome madwoman, a troublesome assistant, a vain admirer...Perhaps he would sooner love you—"

"Stop..." I closed my eyes against his words, feeling a sinking feeling within myself that I needed to examine closer—but not here, not now. Between my recent punishment and the daunting task of concocting a 'love potion', I couldn't manage this…

I heard his footsteps near me, "Once more you shy away from enlightenment in order to cater to your own bleeding heart...You are a selfish admirer, little crow. You are vain and stupid in your beliefs; you are callous and vindictive in your pursuits. Your intentions are not pure—You yearn for his comfort, for his protection, but you dare not return the favour."

He was wrong!

I would capture his heart, even if it meant enduring his unrelenting sadism—He would be _mine._

Shakily I tried to catch my breath but I found it stolen away as he placed a warm hand on my shoulder.

"You vainly seek nectar yet you wholly deserve every drop of poison he offers..."

I stiffened before shouldering off his touch and exiting the room.

He was right.

I could not capture his heart…not with the use of simple aphrodisiacs and blind probing.

If I were to truly succeed, I would need to create a _philtr__e d'amour_ worthy of Dr. Crane.

No, I could not escape him—but if I was successful, he would be unable to escape me as well.


	64. Chapter 5: Alchemist

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers for your truly wonderful feedback.**

**ATTENTION!**

**I would like to explain the time-line before anyone gets confused with the time jumps. The beginning of Mors Et Timor was set quickly after Joker was apprehended in The Dark Knight (remember the events of Batman Begins happened minus Dr. Crane's input, he turned them down and they chose another method instead) and two years have already passed with Revis and Crane in the asylum and the house. Now there's an 8 year gap between The Dark Knight and The Dark Knight Rises so I decided to do some time jumps to make up the 6 years I have left. My story will cover the events of The Dark Knight Rises and the sequel will continue shortly afterward. So now 5 years have past since the end of The Dark Knight. There will be lots of time-jumping to come so hold on tight! ;)**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5 Dr. Crane's POV<strong>

Three Years Later.

"Whatever happened to your mask?"

I paused, pushing my glasses up further, "I found that one cannot rely upon supposed securities."

Of all things to ask while working, she decides to bring up something as trivial as my _mask_?

She smiled, a malicious touch to her otherwise compliant demeanor, "So it _was _a safety blanket of sorts?"

I narrowed my eyes, "I was referring to the phrase 'take nothing for granted'.

"Oh? But you didn't deny it either…" she crooned as she slithered her way into my arms thoroughly discarding the petri dish containing a sample of rye.

It seemed Revis had not lost her childish behavior and resilience no matter how I endeavored to instill the _proper_ fear in her.

"Come now, Dr. Crane…" she pouted, "Whatever happened to your sense of humor?"

I did not stiffen at her touch as I would have years before but I did not warm to her embrace either. Useful or not, she remained a tool.

She sighed at my unmoved expression.

"It's quite a shame…" she trailed off, her hands lowering only to hook themselves into my belt loops as she drew our bodies flush against each other, "I found that mask…_thrilling_ in a way."

Her eyes were hooded, her body willing…Oh yes, she was quite _useful_.

"Perhaps it would be worthwhile to conduct a few 'experiments' with it?" she persisted.

Despite my devotion to my work, I found a greater appreciation of her _devotion_.

I let a faint smirk grace my face, "Perhaps…Although I find myself lacking a straightjacket for my patient."

She faltered, her light countenance fading as tears clouded her eyes, "I—That wouldn't be necessary."

"Nonsense, Revis…After all, it would be unrealistic if a patient was permitted to run about without restraints. In fact, it might warrant a greater _punishment_."

She released my belt loops and attempted to take a step back yet was impeded by the table, "Maybe we should just get back to work—We don't have time for silly games."

I neared her, my hand holding her shoulder in a restrictive grip, "I wasn't aware we were playing a game."

She swallowed uneasily fighting to laugh lightheartedly but failing miserably, "I'm no longer your patient, Dr. Crane."

I was silent allowing my eyes to roam her body leisurely, taking note in the signs of fear: tensed posture, dilated pupils, uneven breathing, frenzied pulse, and best of all…that terrified expression.

I exhaled as if given thought to the possibility before moving in for the kill, "As I recall you were never released from Arkham and consequently from my care," I smirked at the pained emotions so clearly displayed across her face, "Surely you're not naïve enough to believe that after all this time, I've began to regard you as something other than the lunatic you are? Allow me to clarify, I've been studying your case, building a _detailed_ profile, but I certainly haven't developed any altruistic inclinations concerning your welfare."

Surprisingly her alarm softened into a melancholic expression, "You deem my services sufficient in your work…Is it truly so difficult to accept me in your life?"

I spoke precisely, ensuring the bite of my words would be felt, "You possess the minimum qualifications required to assist me but do not mistake yourself to be a necessary component to my studies. Whatever assistance you've offered outside of your station is duly noted but undeserving of promotion."

Her cheeks flushed with indignation, "I was unaware my _love_ was a bargaining tool."

I tilted my head mockingly, "I was unaware your 'love' was under discussion."

The sound of flesh hitting flesh filled the otherwise silent room.

I smiled, holding her struggling wrist in my hand, "Resorting to violence, Revis?" I jerked her arm closer so I was able to trail light kisses along the exposed flesh, "How base…"

She flinched under my grip but grew more submissive as I continued, turning her around so she was partially bent across the table. My free hand crept along her side, raising gooseflesh along the arm I held captive, "Then again…" I whispered in her ear, "…you're already accustomed to such practices."

She struggled to speak but I ignored her in favor of tightly grasping her hip, "Larceny…Deceit…Torture…Execution…You truly have no inhibitions concerning sordid affairs."

I pressed my growing arousal into the small of her back, "Impurity suits you…"

"Yet there is not sufficient time for you to _unsuit_ her," a chuckle followed the heavily accented words of Monsieur Merrick, "—although I do not consider the analogy to be fitting for you may only strip her of _that_ impurity if you seek to marry her."

I paused before sighing and releasing Revis, my lusty affliction cured, "Monsieur Merrick, I was not expecting you today."

He smiled but the emotion was empty, "I experienced a similar surprise of company not too long ago with a new…man of business. He is here seeking artistry within alchemy and I generously suggested your expertise."

I raised an eyebrow, "Alchemy? I work in _chemistry_, Monsieur Merrick, not mythical sciences."

He shrugged, "This masked man is seeking an alchemic solution to his pains and I knew you would not refuse."

Revis shuffled uneasily to my side, "He cannot refuse you…We all know that, Monsieur, so why go through theatricalities?"

The wealthy man took on a bemused expression, "I was not referring to myself, little crow, and I thought, _wisely_, that it would not be beneficial for our masked friend to meet his alchemist in…such a manner."

Revis flushed yet was thankfully silent once more.

"Shall we go then?" I asked sharply.

His words were hiding something…Instead of gloating over the power he possessed within our lives, he alluded to the client's imposing stature within matters of business while continuously referring to him as 'masked'. Perhaps he was a man of dark origins and great power? Yet the prospect of meeting someone who even _Merrick_ deemed powerful churned my stomach despite my ire.

Already I had served three years in Merrick's terms and despite my loathing of servitude I prospered. However, I was not keen on entering a submissive partnership with another man who towered over Merrick's standing.

On the other hand, if the constant use of 'alchemy' was of the client's custom, I needn't worry. Anyone who believed in such imaginary talents was a fool hardly worth my time.

Merrick hesitated as if debating whether or not to inform me of something crucial but instead of speaking, he merely nodded—His eyes flickering to Revis briefly but before I could decipher the intent he turned and strode out of the room, expecting me to follow.

I cast Revis a warning glance only to find that she had once more delved into the work set out before her. It seemed her time as my assistant wasn't entirely wasted if Revis was able to exhibit such 'studious' behavior. Although it was probably a ruse to cower from my gaze, I gave the situation no further thought and instead followed Merrick.

The walk to his office was uneventful as the fruits of conversation withered between us. Yet as we stood outside his office he paused, clearing his throat as though he would speak but then thought better of it and strode inside.

"Ah, Mr. Bane, I hope you were not waiting too long? I apologize for this round-about manner of conduct but due to the specificities of Dr. Crane's work, it is best to exercise caution in rousing him of his studies."

The office was dimly lit, shrouded in a musty darkness as usual; consequently my eyes needed a moment to adjust so as to properly view the client—

My eyes widened, taking in the sheer _mass_ of the man silently standing in the center of the room.

His posture was wide—or perhaps that was merely the immense bulk of his largely muscled shoulders. Even at ease he seemed ready to launch into action and by his size, the results would be devastating. Yet perhaps almost as imposing as his unbelievably larger-than-life size and the massive girth of his muscles was the strange contraption across his hairless head.

The mask covered his mouth with a set of silver tubes interlinking through the thick material. The device in question wrapped around his head from three points: one on each cheek and the third following his nose and receding into the back.

So Merrick was not speaking figuratively when he mentioned a masked man.

Yet strangely the man said nothing in response. His eyes, however, were more provocative than his words could ever be—was he even able to speak?

Those orbs of colour—opaque in the dim lighting—never hesitated, never faltered, as he viewed me curiously like a small bug who managed to cling to his hand. Similarly I wondered if he would hesitate to crush me if I failed to meet his impossible demands of 'alchemy'.

Before I was able to speak, Merrick filled the tension in the room with a greater degree of unease, "You will be most satisfied with his work, Mr. Bane. He is a master alchemist!"

I cleared my throat, giving my retort in the Frenchman's direction, "I am a _chemist_."

The masked brawny man said nothing.

Yet the blonde businessman continued, "Oh please _Doctor,_ petty squabbling is best left to you and your assistant—_my _little crow."

I exhaled in a controlled degree of agitation, I disliked the man's extravagance and flourish but today I held no patience for his suave manners.

Merrick tsked and sighed, "You are not a man of emotion, Dr. Crane, but you should take caution for one may confuse your interest for compassion and consequently your acts of possession as _love_. It wouldn't be fair to confuse the poor crow even more—her mind is made fragile by the nature of her gender but you threaten to unbalance her entirely with your dark manipulati—"

"Forgive me, Monsieur Merrick, but I was under the impression we were conducting business?"

The man paused before sighing, "Alright, now Mr. Bane would you like to speak with the good doctor or would you rather see his expertise at work?"

The man raised an eyebrow, speaking in a strange automated and accented voice, "I have already decided upon Dr. Crane's skills; we shall talk—and _you_ shall leave."

Merrick faltered before smiling—yet the expression never looked more threatening than it did then, "Of course, _Mr_. Bane…"

The masked man grew annoyed but said nothing.

I kept my face blank in a perfect mask of intellectual detachment as I carefully noted the _true_ display of the masked man's strength.

I knew his breed, a vapid growth of men who prized their prowess as power; men who believed they ruled others by pure intimidation. I loathed his kind and could name it in one word: bully.

I _despised_ bullies.

I smoothly began the conversation, "What can I do for you, Mr.—"

His eyes grew frustrated, "Bane."

I paused before raising an eyebrow in concession, "Bane? Did you have a specific poison in mind?"

He shifted his massive weight and despite myself I took a step back, "No not poisons, I seek a new anesthetic three times more potent and with a longer duration."

I waited for him to elaborate but he remained silent.

I cleared my throat, "I am not accustomed to making anesthetic drugs and in order to perfect your request, I will need some time."

His eyes grew hard but he did not speak and I found I didn't mind, his voice was a strange tenor that I found both unnatural and slightly grating and his accent was increasingly difficult to place. Perhaps it was Mediterranean?

"Of course, I'll regularly give out prototypes if you're curious as to the progress but I would refrain from ingesting the unperfected medicine lest any unseemly side effects arise."

He mulled over the words then spoke only two words, "Three months."

Without another word he stared at me pointedly.

My eyebrow twitched in annoyance yet I complied with the silent message and left the shadowy office.

Merrick was just outside yet he paled when he noted the absence of the masked man known as simply Bane—how apt a title.

He attempted a charming smile but failed miserably as he stepped forward to return to his office, shaking like a leaf.

I did not envy him.


	65. Chapter 6: Monochrome

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers for your wonderful feedback and great questions! ^-^**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6 Revis POV<strong>

Many Months Later

Snow.

It was everywhere, covering everything in a mist of icy splendor.

I closed my eyes briefly yet with the highest degree of elation I had felt in _years_. Here I was hidden; here I was safe.

The beautiful substance covered the forest in a chilled blanket that silenced all life and encircled me in a wreath of magnificence.

The sky was clouded, whatever light remained shone in a light lilac in the heavens yet the breathtaking sight did not bring luminance to the snow—the crystalized matter created its own light, its own world.

The manor was surrounded by a thick barrier of trees, the forest acting as a moat, yet within the woods it seemed that nothing was in existence but the surreal sights around me.

I continued to walk, merely taking in the presence of the frozen woods around me.

Snow was safe; snow was magical; snow was nostalgic.

A deep ache filled my heart as I walked in the woods; my crunching footsteps and the distant wind the only sound in this stunning silence. So apart from the rest of the world, enclosed in an icy coffin, it was only too easy to believe I was in another realm.

Wandering through the trees, a long figure stalked the woods; she did not disturb her preserved surroundings but rather fell into its embrace. Who was this wanderer?

A crow cawed, drawing my attention to its inky feathers as it flew from its hidden perch atop a snowy tree.

Another pang shot through my chest; oh Merizah…

No—

I closed my eyes tightly warding the thoughts from my mind.

It wasn't real; _he_ wasn't real—

Oh but he was…and forever he would haunt me.

The sound of the dark bird multiplied causing me to open my eyes and watch as the murder of crows soared in the iced heavens.

I cleared my throat before continuing, my hands were chilled and turning red from the exposed contact with the low temperatures but I could care less. My body was warm—or rather detached from the cold in such a way I felt little pain in the frigid air.

Distraught from the bittersweet memories that began to rise like phantoms from the grave I forced myself to focus my scattered attention on the tree nearest to me.

It was tall, standing strong among its brethren about thirty or forty feet into the air.

Cautiously I touched the bark, marveling at its rough texture and cool temperature. Yet before I could fall into my mind, I clutched onto a higher branch with my hands and used my feet to scale the first foot or so into the tree before finding a foothold on a low branch. From there I began to ascend through the branches, a dizzying pattern of boughs twisting over one another.

A few times my numb hands scraped against the bark causing a rush of pain and a heady sensation of the following endorphins but I merely accepted the grounding sensation and continued—careful to not catch my trench coat on a stray limb of the tree.

I smiled despite my uncertain standing on a branch fifteen feet in the air.

As a welcoming gift, Monsieur Merrick presented to me my lost trench coat. That day the first snow fell to the ground and I used my well-loved coat to shield myself while outside. It wasn't surprising to receive such a gift from Monsieur considering his connections and the many doors they opened—Even closed doors such as Arkham's inventory of prisoners' belongings.

Dr. Crane wasn't pleased with the gift but then again Dr. Crane wasn't pleased with much—even me…

A frown tugged on my lips as I continued to ascend, slightly slipping on an icy branch but catching myself before I plummeted to the frozen branches below.

I gasped raggedly in the sharp air, rejoicing in the exhilarating chemicals pumping through my body.

It probably wasn't wise to climb such a tree, during winter, in a trench coat with sleeves slightly too short, but I had always loved trees and no matter my age (even the mature number of twenty-nine) I would never give up the chance to sit above the world in a secure perch catered to by nature's lumbering protectors.

I continued to scale the tree, concentrating on each footstep in my new steel-toed boots and wincing slightly as my scraped palms continuously grated against the rough bark.

My breath puffed in front of me, slightly obscuring my vision yet my body had warmed to the task and I found myself enjoying the light exertion and intense thrill.

Searching for a stable branch to rest upon now that I was far into the air just shy of thirty feet, I chanced a look at the ground and lost my breath.

How beautiful…

I was unafraid of heights despite the bothersome difference in depth perception as the difference between myself and the ground lengthened although maybe that was due to my lack of glasses…

Currently my glasses were in a case within one of the deep pockets of my trench coat—No matter the gift of clear sight I found the simple pleasures to be best enjoyed without the bother of constantly adjusting my glasses. There was no reason to wear them out here where all signs (of life and metal) were absent.

Weighing my options and deciding to take a risk, I continued up another eight feet in the tree to a spacious cradle of branches that would provide me a sequestered position while also ensuring my safety.

I huffed in contentment as I sat atop a large branch, my back against the trunk and my feet resting across a neighboring bough comfortably. Glancing upward I noticed the remaining ten feet of branches and the slight structure of each limb—this would be the highest I could safely ascend.

Satisfied, my heart thrashing with excitement, I once more took in the sight of the world about me. I purposefully chose this tree for it placement away from the manor—Unless I craned my head around and risked my position for a clear sight of the estate, the prison like walls were forgotten.

Of course the prison was luxurious and the warden generous if not horribly annoying and overly cruel but where else could we go? As wanted criminals, there would be no safety—and as prized employees of Monsieur Merrick, there would be no chance of escape.

Yet the Frenchman was useful and the forced seclusion beneficial to my plans of capturing Dr. Crane's heart.

By the first year or so I had perfected my 'love potion' and began regularly administrating the drug into his coffee each morning. The effects were no longer uncontrollably like those horrid _months_ of resorting to aphrodisiacs to pacify him although more often than not I was victim to cruel acts of lust. Of course, I knew Dr. Crane would not change entirely and surely such a powerful onslaught of hormones had him suspicious at first—not of myself, thankfully—but as he grew accustomed to the idea of pleasure, he settled down. Surely I was only a release to him but that soon changed.

A frown twisted my mouth once more.

He had yet to declare his love for me—and I had yet to sense the emotion upon touching him—yet things were drastically different.

To an outsider things would have been the same but I noticed every slight alteration in his usual behavior.

Instead of glaring with seething anger, he unknowingly unleashed a raw passion through that gaze—anger was there, of that I was sure, but a cruel delight flickered in his chilling eyes.

Whereas before he would cringe from my touch he now withstood it without as much as a blink.

When he worked he expected me by his side, ready to assist him in all matters. As he prepared himself for his duties he also assigned me minor tasks.

Not only that but he was 'affectionate' in a way. True to his mocking words a few years ago, we did not hold hands or cuddle in front of a fire but he showed his desire, his smoldering feelings, in other ways.

Whether it be a lingering stare, an unnecessary touch along my shoulder, my arm, my waist—

I shivered lightly as I recalled his creeping touch—so unnerving but so wonderful. Simply the manner in which his hand curled around my side, each finger falling into place in a disturbing sequence: index, middle, ring, pinkie, and the sharp squeeze of his thumb.

Yet lately I've rarely had time alone with him…

It was quite perplexing when one thought of our close quarters but it was only too easy to avoid one another in the large wing of the manor. I understood he was hard at work with a new customer—whichever one Monsieur introduced him to a few months ago—but was it truly so difficult to make a poison? If so why didn't he approach me?

I hadn't the same level of education and despite my understanding of his fear toxins (only brought on by frequent tests and a near obsessive attention to his lessons) I was quite lost in the world of chemistry.

In fact, within high school I passed the class with a C and even then the grade was due to my close friend, Sable, who was a constant pleasure to be around and assisted me in whatever area I had trouble with and vice-versa. Dr. Crane would no doubt stare in horror at me (the idea brought a twisted grin to my face) if he knew of my less than perfect score. Of course, I studied harder in college and earned a much better grade for my efforts but in truth chemistry was simply not my strong point.

Taking into consideration my lacking abilities, I felt immense pride for my achievement. Not only was I able to create a suitable drug that would have him smitten but I had been administrating it for _years_ without his knowledge.

My expression turned sombre once more.

Despite my love of trees and winter, the wonderful sensation of wandering in this enchanted world of frost and nature, I had a darker purpose for journeying here each day when the sky was clouded and the forest snowbound.

I lived with a terrible guilt each day for it was not an easy task to continuously drug Dr. Crane and then enjoy his affections without remorse. I did not want to deceive him…but it was a selfish necessity. I did everything possible to strengthen those budding feelings that my 'love potion' provided.

I catered to his moods and strove to please him in every way without exposing my true position. I was silent and scarce when he was of a foul mood; I was attentive and respectful when he requested my presence for work; I was coy when he needed a distraction and serious when he desired a solemn conversation; I never pressed his boundaries or procured information with my talent.

Oh I was tempted..._very_ tempted but I restrained myself with the insight that when he bestowed such details to me _willingly_ the reward would be much sweeter.

Yet I was not infallible.

During moments of _improper_ conduct I was subject to whispers of his mind, echoes of his past, no matter my struggle to stay impartial. His emotions deserved no protection and I did not mind filtering through them or the haze of his energy but his mind was a gift I desired almost as much as his love and consequently refused to immerse myself within the undisclosed boundaries.

It was out of my respect for his secrets and in search to shed my guilt that I left to these woods when the weather was fitting. Each time I left—usually in the early evening—I asked him to meet me in the woods, giving very clear directions on my whereabouts. Yet each night he did not show.

I had lost count of the times I sobbed openly in the sheltering cradle of the woods or the many hours of feverish watch and the harsh stab of disappointment. Now, two years later, I simply resigned myself to enjoying the solitude and desperately fighting the seductive pull of my mind's insanity.

I closed my eyes and rested my head against the cold bark drained emotionally.

The years had not been kind to me…

Wearily I opened my eyes and gazed at the world of twilight and frost. No matter the initial beauty and deep love for my environment, the sight rotted leaving me feeling sick and trapped.

I had come here for solace yet I had only found pain.

I ducked my head and fought tears as I curled my legs up next to me, barely giving thought to my precarious balance until I lurched to the side.

Shrieking I caught myself on the branch my feet had been previously rested on. I gasped in painful intervals, my eyes widened in terror at the jagged jaws of wood and pine-needles that waited only a few feet below.

Shakily, I collected myself and began to descend while taking careful notice of my surrounds and the wavering branches as gusts of wind began to swoop in the boughs with a vicious strength.

Why did I climb to such a great height? Was my short duration perched on a throne atop great mast of the forest worth my plight of returning safely?

It wasn't until my unsteady legs were on the frozen ground, buried neatly in a foot of snow, that I allowed myself one final exhale of shock as my body continued to tremble from a mix of nerves and cold.

Now that I had survived the descent my mind was moving onto more important things such as returning home to either a deserted bed or to the harsh words of my doctor.

Was it truly so hard to accept my offer just _once_?!

Exasperated I returned to the manor numb to the cold that had enveloped my body and sullen to the empty hallways and mocking portraits of happier times.

As I walked to our wing, uncaring if the snow dusting my pant legs and packed in between the crevices of my boots melted in water stains across the expensive carpet and polished floors, my internal mood tarnished my face into a grim countenance.

The heated corridors brought unwelcome warmth to my frozen limbs, bringing me back to the same level of the living everyone else suffered from. When I was adrift, aloof, in my wintery realm I was a spectral being apart from the living. I merely lingered in a place that blurred the lines between dream and death. Then upon my unwilling return, I was infused with the unfavorable flame that lit each being with life. It is that spirit, that detestable _warmth,_ that reminded me that I was a part of humanity which I so despised.

Yet perhaps the worst moment was when I found myself in front of the large doors that lead to the North wing. The spare seconds in which I hesitated were more painful than the heated rush of life or the immobilizing pain I felt in the woods for once I entered I would be forced to _face_ proof that he had once more deserted me.

Shrugging off my weighted emotions, heavy manacles dragging me further into the suffocating depths of my melancholy soul, my watery grave, I entered the doors and journeyed down the light blue and white striped hallway.

Past the hallway lied an open space which branched out to different sections: a library, a laboratory, a sitting room, and a few other accommodations which I found little use for. Dr. Crane was no doubt asleep by now or perhaps holed up in his work room so there was no point in disturbing him.

Morosely I continued to tread down the hallway, shuffling off my now too-warm trench coat as I walked—

"Revis?"

I froze at the sound of my doctor's voice before turning to inspect him: deliciously disheveled after a long day's work.

Thankfully the shift from the chilled air to the warm manor left my cheeks red and so my blush would be unnoticed.

"Yes?" I responded, still hurt but willing to push past my pain in order to seek out any opportunity to gain greater respect in his eyes—No, to fill his eyes with the _love_ I deserved.

"After meeting with my newest client, he made a few suggestions toward my work and I need your assistance to fully utilize his advice."

I raised a chilled eyebrow.

Since when did Dr. Crane, esteemed chemist and egotist, seek to 'utilize' _anyone's_ advice?

Yet instead of voicing my thoughts in the viscous taunt I so desperately wanted to use, I walked toward him noticing that he took a step back because my body retained the chill of the outdoors.

I swallowed tightly, "I am at your service, _doctor_."

He glared and took a step toward me, bringing a startling reminder of his dangerous potential.

Damn, my reply _had_ been a malicious barb despite my intention to mask such antagonistic feelings.

"Yes…Yes, you are," he mused, still seething but not willing to waste time by reprehending me—Wow, things _were_ serious.

I shifted uncomfortably, "Which type of poison—"

He shook his head, "Not poisons—_Anesthetics_."

I furrowed my eyebrows, "Anesthetics?"

He licked his lips then exhaled, "Yes and I need a few test subjects in order—"

I backed away quickly accidentally smacking my head into the wall behind me yet I continued regardless, "N-No…No," I shook my aching head and attempted to push down my rising panic, "I've allowed you to torture me for your experiments before, but not like this—Y-You're not going," my breathing hitched, "to t-touch—"

He kept a mask of apathy, a dangerous detachment, but replied cordially, "You're reluctance would normally be an interesting notion to explore but I find the situation at hand to hold a greater urgency. The role I had intended for you to fulfill was that of a torturer; someone to inflict massive amounts of pain upon others _without_ killing them."

Although I had calmed down marginally, I remained against the wall, "A torturer?"

His eyes stabbed me through without remorse, "The level of pain will surpass anything you've inflicted before so I suggest you study various methods in order to perfect the art of torture. This is not an attempt at revenge, an experiment, or a punishment but rather a chance to exploit humanity's greatest agonies.

'Your greatest challenge aside from ensuring they retain a constant degree of unrelenting anguish is to maintain their health—that is to say that they must survive for months under those conditions. You may find your preferred instruments of knives and scalpels to be a hindrance so I suggest you find other means to inflict your brutalities."

At first I was excited by the mention of torture, it had been _too_ long since I had last experienced the joy of another's pain, but the restriction on weaponry brought a frown to my face—Not to mention the notion of extracting excruciating amounts of pain and preserving the same level of torment for _months_ twisted my normally hardened stomach.

"When do we begin?" I asked numbly, beginning to shake as I realized the exact ramifications of my role and noting how unaffected Dr. Crane was about the situation entirely.

"You will have one week to conduct your research but I would urge you to begin immediately, time is against us."

I exhaled, fighting the rising disgust but before I could answer I found my chin in his hand and my body caged by his.

"I understand this will be a challenge but I expect nothing but perfection, is that understood?"

I was rendered powerless under his touch, unable to speak but the action would be useless for he quickly closed the space between us in a forceful kiss.

The moment he pulled away he whispered to me softly, his hand stroking my now warm cheek, "Please Revis, realize that we _cannot_ fail this assignment."

Please?

He had _never_ asked for something—he only demanded that it be done…

Whoever this client was he had Dr. Crane on his toes, desperate to please, and despite my unwillingness to admit it: scared.

I nodded mutely, fear stabbing me over as I saw his eyes not lighten with my agreement but grow frenzied as the very real panic of the unknown (to me) situation became the second-hand upon a clock, counting down to the deadline.

He left me quickly, not even sparing me a glance as he rushed to return to his lab presumably leaving me to begin my research.

My innards coiled unto themselves painfully, churning a mix of fear and revulsion, as I changed my direction to the library.

Even when I was inside the normally reassuring realm of literature and solitude the feeling didn't abate but rather intensified.

Shakily I placed my trench coat atop a table, one of many, as I began to scan the rows of books hoping to find something useful before I resorted to the internet.

It wasn't until I noticed a rough binding of a large volume labeled aptly titled for my search that I doubled over—the suppressed emotions dredging up my horrid past.

I closed my eyes against the sights before me, fearing I would be sick. Yet when I opened them, I found myself trembling and sweating while trying to even out my breathing.

I was wrong…

Merizah wasn't the only one haunting me…The crows may remind me of his presence and the forest may bring my wretched memories forth but the true danger lied in myself—it always had.

Here I was, researching methods to torture with the pure intention of inciting anguish—

Flashes of tearstained faces, flushed cheeks, jaws straining with the daunting task of releasing a scream tantamount to their suffering, rose to mind.

They would beg for release, for death…

They would sob endlessly, their wails would echo in my mind for hours…

They would spew forth their hatred in curses…

I would become impartial, emotionless…

I would worsen their plight, deepen the wretched peril that banished them to a life of hellish tortures…

I would _enjoy_ it.

No—She had never left, she had merely been lying in wait so as to seek out the right moment to reappear.

I sobbed then coughed as bile rose to my throat cutting off the wails that fought to escape.

She wasn't dead…She wasn't a part of my past…

She was real.

She was me.

I plastered my hands over my mouth, to ward off vomit or screams I was unsure, as my knees gave out forcing me to the floor in a pile of agony.

I could never escape my insanity…I could never escape _her._

Elocin...

My past life, the woman who maimed, slaughtered, and pillaged, the contracted killer who explored the dark arts of murder and magic alike, she was resurfacing.

I may live in a reality where magic is a myth but my mind had once bridged the distance between fiction and fact. No matter that I was free of my three year delusion that plagued me as a teenager, forced Lucius into his obsessive insanity, and has haunted me since, I had not slain the shadows that lingered in my mind—I merely buried them.

It did not matter that my acts would further Dr. Crane's research and in turn profit us both because I was not just a madwoman who had slain others under the delusion of being Death incarnate and now serviced her sadistic doctor in trials of fear, I was once more a torturer, a merciless and malicious tormenter.

There was no difference in my positions from my delusion of a past life and my decisions in my current life. I was not free of her—my dark self full of corruption and malevolence. In fact, I was now _becoming_ her.

I shook my head in a vain denial—

I did not want the glee of sadism to take me to new depths of insanity. I did not want the screams and pleads of others to incite a delicious pleasure. I did not want to remain aloof from their suffering, a mere practitioner in the art of pain.

I became a mourner to repent for my sins—of a fabricated nature, yes, but real enough to me—not to later exploit them.

A muffled moan escaped me.

I should have seen the signs when I was deluded as Death. Extracting 'revenge' made my acts seem noble. Ensuring my patients were cared for should have been my only goal. I should have been less impulsive to my assistant instead of murdering him in a violent compulsion. I should have reported my boss to the authorities and found means to indict the tramp as well. I should have requested another psychiatrist instead of staging a war with Dr. Crane. I should have done so much differently.

Nevermind my deep felt regrets and the most humbling and bare moment of humility I have ever experienced, I knew I would bury my humanity once more in order to carry out my role.

I had not experienced catharsis within my years of disciplining my mind—I only feared the return of my insanity. Even now I would not receive a purging of my soul—my tormented soul—for I would only deepen my impurity and fall into the depths of my darkened mind once more.

While I was on the floor of the heated library I was left frozen by my realization.

I now understood the truth of the matter; the balance I held within myself.

Elocin…she was a mirror of the truth—exposing the lie of my life, myself…Nicole.

But who was Revis?


	66. Chapter 7: Three Months

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers for your support and feedback! You guys rock!**

**Oh and a funny note for this chapter, Revis wound is based off of my own although at the time I was (stupidly) scraping out candle wax from a glass container with a knife so as to instead melt wax cubes in it when I used my candle warmer (Megamind gave me the cubes Scentsy's 'Titanium' and 'Clary Sage' which smell like I imagine Dr. Crane would). I still have the scar, and hole in my skirt to prove it XD**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7 Dr. Crane's POV<strong>

Many Months Later.

I was running out of time.

No matter the extensive experiments and _great_ progress made in an area I held no previous knowledge, it was not enough.

Perhaps I would find greater success if I remained true to my strengths—synthesizing natural compounds such as venom or certain fungi then expounding their qualities to the desired level while muting other properties. Paralysis contrived from the venom of a coral snake, unbridled fear derived from the rot of grain, these were my achievements which in turn wrought their own difficulties.

How to neutralize the poison within a coral snake in order to utilize its unique paralysis? How does one suppress the effects of rash, vomiting, and gangrene from ergotism while ensuring the _fear_ itself did not wane?

Despite these setbacks I learned to thrive and from countless experiments, first with pheromones and trials of inducing hellish circumstances, I learned to find a physical root of fear—and what better source than Saint Anthony's Fire? Yet with Bane's demand of a highly potent anesthetic, I found myself stumped.

Merely collecting various anesthetics and understanding their structure then seeking to 'amp' up the qualities was a fruitless endeavor. No matter my efforts Bane would insist that others have tried such methods and failed—he then implied that perhaps in the past I had used the incompetence of others to mask my own if such petty attempts at chemistry were rampant in my work.

How untrue that was…but I had yet to persuade him otherwise.

Decades of work to perfect a range of poisons meant nothing to the beastly man, he only sought instant perfection within anesthetics—and I was running out of time.

I sighed exasperatedly…

He would be 'visiting' once more and I had nothing new to show him.

That is, unless Revis might have found some brilliant insight from some unlikely source. While her work lied within _inducing_ levels of pain to correctly treat them, there seemed to be no improvement within the drug. Each test subject felt relief with the _regular_ anesthetic—yet I was at a loss to do anything but push Revis to in turn push _them_ further.

As desperate as I was, I had even hoped Revis would find _something_ that I was overlooking. Whether it be a chemical compound (unlikely seeing as she hadn't left the torture room except to conduct further research or tend to her own needs) or a rare moment of infallible logic that would further ignite my own genius. Yet she said nothing and merely played her role dutifully.

I furrowed my eyebrows at the thought.

Most would visibly flinch at the idea of inflicting severe torture on others let alone hold composure during or after the matter yet Revis did not possess the same moral limitations that so many were burdened with. Then her background, consisting of both a clinical mindset and criminal misconducts, supplied her with further advantage. Yet I found myself speculating on her current level of sanity.

It was a ridiculous notion considering her utter _lack_ of sanity yet I could not afford to continuously ignore her weakened moments of malady which have been alarmingly scarce.

At times I would notice her strange posturing and scattered attention. I observed her moments of self-induced delirium and the odd tilt of her head as though she was listening to a silent voice. She was rarely as collected as she sought to impress upon me and I saw through each attempt at normalcy. Yet she was not the same loon she as before.

Her delusion of Death might have assisted her current position although the lack of bodies produced from such activities might have also hindered her mindset. While delusions were susceptible to change for despite their consuming, elaborate nature they were hazardously fragile. To casually refute a delusion would cause an array of reactions from denial to aggression yet to allow a delusion to fester was in itself dangerous. Yet for someone to manipulate and control a crazie through said delusion—Well, I was _very_ proficient in exploiting _all_ of Revis' assets and many of her faults.

Normally I wouldn't give a second thought to Revis' mind for I had supreme control over her thoughts and knew her mannerisms in such an exact way I could predict and then give detail to which rising irrationality plagued her. Yet with my mind occupied by my client's latest rebuttals, I merely placed an extensive task within her hands and expected her to follow through without any serious consequence to arise.

How foolish I was to think Revis was capable of undertaking such orders without my constant supervision. She held the mentality of a child: naïve, emotional, irrational. So hindered by trauma she could not fully function as a normal woman would yet a normal woman would be unable to fulfill the tasks I required.

Almost six years have passed since our accidental meeting and then humorous reunion; since that time she has proved her worth while also drawing attention to her many grievous faults. She may not require a salary for her efforts or ask for much of anything but her madness demanded its own attention and that in itself was taxing.

So while Bane was expected to return for another visit, I was required to make a visitation of my own to my _dear_ assistant.

I sighed once more and gathered my selection of hefty books from the library in hopes of first evaluating Revis then arranging _some_ semblance of progress before the masked bully arrived.

After depositing my books atop a bare corner of my desk then entering the torture room, a sterilized room adjacent to my laboratory, I was stunned by the sight hulking stature of Bane, the bloody figure of my assistant, and the smell of acrid tar filling the room.

I had only left my laboratory for a few minutes to grab some obscure texts—How had he entered?

Then Revis! How did she manage to injure herse—surely she wasn't so stupid as to attempt to _attack_ Bane?!

"—ean the lack of sleep in itself is a torture for various reasons yet the longer one remains awake the greater one feels the effects of pain. Even something as simple as a pinch can have a grown man crying.

'We've sought out men of a larger stature," she gestured to a restrained yet silent (no doubt by Bane's daunting presence) man who waited helplessly in a chair, "—to better determine the dosage required for someone of _your_ size but now I better understand the ratio between pain and its distribution.

'Although I find myself curious as to _sensation_ of the pain itself—Perhaps that is too personal of a question but you must understand how such information would benefit our work. The initial sensation of immense pain is blinding, consuming, and for a moment numb but then the heated waves of agony crash over one in unrelenting torrents.

'Yet that raises the question of the type of pain—one may only induce the totalitarian anguish of the _initial_ pain so many times. Is it burning? Paralyzing? Sharp? A thick, smoldering pain? A rapid succession of stabbing pain? Once more I apologize for the personal nature of the question but it's essential to—Dr. Crane!"

A blinding smile lit up her blood smeared face as she limped toward me with enthusiasm, "I was just—"

"Revis," I spoke the single word with enough anger and dark implication for her to immediately fall silent.

I then directed my attention to the masked man who began all this trouble, "Bane, I apologize for Revis' actions, I was not aware you had arrived or—"

"But Dr. Crane, I _was_ conducting business. We were discussing—"

I shot her another look, "Not now, Revis. Go clean yourself, we'll talk later."

Yet she stood her ground, shifting her weight before wincing at the action and resigning herself to staring at me cockily, "No. Your work lies within the laboratory and mine within this room, Bane entered the room and inquired as to my efforts when _you_ interrupted. I'm sure he has business with you as well but if you truly wanted to perfect the anesthetic to his demands, you'll need to treat the same pain _which_ I need information on."

Of all times to question my authority she chooses to do so in front of _Bane_?!

The masked man in question looked merely amused by our banter but also impatient for a resolution to be made.

Although I had already opened my mouth he spoke in that grating, mechanical tone, "Your assistant is right; to treat pain you must first inflict it. I have waited to see your progress and have found _nothing_."

I held my ground under his pressing eyes yet Revis interrupted once more.

"Perhaps you would like to stay for a few days? I'm sure after learning more we can supply the progress you seek. Dr. Crane has spent most his life perfecting his poisons. The switch to anesthetics, an _antidote_ to misery, comes as an unforeseen change which requires time to adapt to. I'm sure Monsieur would not mind if you accepted his hospitality awhile longer?"

He was silent, an eerie trait for someone so large, before shaking his head, "Three months."

Revis was confused by his statement but I understood perfectly.

Thankfully she was silent as Bane prepared to leave the room, gesturing with the slightest tilt of his head, "After you, _Dr. Crane_."

The time Revis had bought did not bring relief but only deepened my dread.

Yet before I left the room entirely I heard the beginning of a lullaby, _"Hush little baby, don't say a word…"_

The voice was easily identified as Revis but I did not turn back even as the pleas of a terrified man sounded.

"_Mama's gonna buy you a mocking bird…"_

I felt a shiver start along my spine at the soft yet desolate sound of Revis' singing.

I cleared my throat as I entered my laboratory, noting Bane had stopped.

"_And if that mocking bird won't sing…"_

The man began to beg.

"Would you care for a sample of my latest anesthetic?"

"_Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring…"_

He glanced to the door, favoring silence until we were alone.

Annoyance rose at his gall but rationality smothered any unruly ideas that someone like myself was in a position to refuse a man like Bane.

Yet as I turned back to close the door connecting the two rooms, I took in the still bloodied form of Revis as she sang the next line.

"_And if that diamond ring turns to brass…"_

As her voice trailed off she poured what I presumed to be scalding tar along the restrained arm of a test subject.

The man's hellish shrieks filled the room until I closed the door, effectively muting the torture with the assistance of the soundproof wing.

I collected myself before turning around to face the massive man, fighting to keep my posture tall despite the instinctive urge to cower but before I could speak he lurched into action causing me to take an automatic step back consequently hitting my head against the door.

Although he merely placed a colossal hand atop my shoulder—his thumb curving around the better part of my throat while his smallest finger overlapped my bicep—I felt an unusual bolt of fear strike through me.

His hand was light upon my shoulder but the threat weighed heavily on my mind.

Such strength…

"Do not fail me."

Loathing the situation, even the sensation of blood draining from my face, I nodded—unable to so much as speak.

He hesitated a moment longer as if mulling over the situation once more, "Your assistant…She pleases me. You should learn from her."

I kept my face blank despite my anger at both his words and the hint of humor I detected. He waited a moment longer then released me.

My heart rate spiked considerably, as though I had just survived a tremendous threat—and I had.

"Three months…" I echoed, my voice cracking slightly.

He simply watched me with those unreadable, obscure eyes…but his haunting mask stayed with me even when he left.

I exhaled tiredly, rubbing my sore eyes.

When had I last slept?

Far too long…

Wearily I reentered the room and noted Revis had gagged the man so only the barest of whines could escape his throat. She seemed oblivious to my presence as she continued to hum the lullaby while ensuring the man's torso and arms were heavily coated in the dark matter. No doubt she would wait until it had cooled before peeling it off—and consequently a majority of the man's flesh. Yet as she shifted her weight to one side, she once more winced causing me to note the blood trails along her leg.

"Revis…"

She turned her head at the sound of her name but did not beam as she did the first time I had entered the room. Instead she lowered her eyes demurely.

I scoffed at the action—her rebellious behavior had already sowed disaster and no amount of docile behavior could remedy that.

Too tired for words I merely clasped her shoulder with a (frustratingly) shaky hand, "Where are you injured?"

She blanched as though she had forgotten the wound but resigned herself to my care, not even struggling as I led her to a sink and hoisted her up upon its edge. After collecting a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, cotton swabs, and a few sponges (so readily available in the room designed to maintain the health of those tortured) I kneeled before her carefully scrubbing away the bloodied streaks until pale skin, tinged pink, remained.

She didn't speak but rather stared at the point above my shoulder; likewise I didn't seek conversation but rather sought to collect myself and plan out my—our—next course of action.

Yet as the blood disappeared I parted her long skirt, two lengths of black fabric which overlapped and were easily parted until a shock of bloodied white skin appeared between the two sections of dark material.

It seemed the amount of blood stemmed from a puncture wound just above and adjacent to her knee. I continued to clean the blood trails, sometimes tarrying over a stubborn streak of dried blood, all the while saying nothing.

"It was an accident…" she said softly, emotionlessly, "When Bane entered, I was working on filling a jar with some ingredients I had just finished cutting. I had been scraping the contents off the knife with the edge of the jar when he startled me and the knife hit the bottom, broke the glass, and entered my leg."

Such an event was typical of Revis and so I said nothing.

"I didn't even feel it…" she whispered.

I fixed her with a sharp look as I poured the peroxide into the cut, allowing it to bubble madly at the open wound, "Yet you decided it would be prudent to ignore an open wound, a _bleeding_ one at that?"

I wiped away the bubbling substance with a clean sponge then placed a bandage upon the wound.

She met my eyes, more drawn to my face from my actions than my words, but soon drifted away.

I fought the urge to give a melancholic sigh but rather placed my forehead against her knees as my hands gripped her smooth calves.

She stiffened instinctively before relaxing under my touch, even daring to run her fingers over the gelled hair along the back of my head.

How long has it been since I had relaxed?

Far too long…

Softly, too unsettled to properly _unsettle_ her, I kissed her bandaged wound.

"Revis…" the word came out wrong—sound more of a moan, a plea, than anything else.

Yet her fingers left my hair as she pulled her legs away and stood without the slightest hesitance.

Confused by her sudden withdrawal I lifted my head, heavy with despair, as she seemed to regard me coolly.

"Goodnight, Jonathan."

Frozen by the blow dealt to me, I watched her figure retreat while leaving me on my knees—rejected.


	67. Chapter 8: Shame

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers for your wonderful feedback and support! **

**ATTENTION!**

**This chapter contains dark and explicit content that may be disturbing. The (real) flashback is written in present tense because that's the way it came out when I wrote it. This chapter was hard to write and edit and I know that it may also be difficult to read. This story is dark, and this chapter is only one example of that. **

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8 Revis POV<strong>

Two and a Half Years Later.

I feel the bitter ache of a loss...My last hope has been snuffed out.

Now I'm running out of time—No, I never had enough time and now I never will. There's nothing to stall _her_ burning need...nothing to shield me from the blackened truth.

At first I was terrified of such darkness; after all the dark is where I lost my mind so many years ago...

All the lights, the flickers of hope, were extinguished by the creeping shadows of _punitive_ reality—a reality assembled from broken shards of a warped lie. Such reflective remnants did not properly convey the realism I sought but rather distorted the world into a perverse invention.

Then my twisted conduits of thought, my earnest vigor to properly perceive the _truth_ through such a shattered fairy-tale, were dominated by a shade so consuming I feared that the most sacred of all light would be overtaken as well.

Yet I guarded that last mocking light of hope—could such a lowly spark be called such?—from the darkness.

However, I glimpsed in the midst of my ponderings, pensive reflections of nights much darker than mine, a glow.

Was it another flame of hope? If it was but an ember surely I would be able to caress it into a blazing fire?

But it was not an ember for there was no spark only the deceptive reflection of the moon. Its luminance, so brilliant to my blind heart, beckoned.

I sought a warmth—the kin to my own—but there was no passion within the silvered rays.

Dismayed I froze, my candle, my most sacred light, threatened to smother itself from the oxygen contained within my chest—my bated breath cradling my thrashing heart.

Then my one candle of _sanity,_ my sole hope, was abruptly snatched by the terrible claws of night—all encompassing night—as I stared in starry wonder at the empty radiance of the moon.

I might have regretted my path if I had taken greater insight to understand that such a broken looking glass would only lead me astray—washed asunder, pulled under, leaving me in a frozen wonder.

But I do not regret for I cannot tear my eyes away from the cold gaze of the moon no matter the dying flame of my last candle.

Now there is no light to comfort me, all my hopes have been smothered by the lurching darkness reflected from those shards of shattered reality—Now there is only Elocin, the monster lurking in the shadows, whispering in my ear. She guards me by banishing the other monsters—those like Dr. Crane.

Forever more I will have no need for any light, including the dying flame of my sanity. There is no light of love, of revenge, there's only Elocin...and now she threatens to consume the last spark of my mind.

Yet I still yearn for the moon…wishing its luminance would banish the dark.

…

I approached the couch where Dr. Crane sat deeply engrossed in a large text of some sort.

Respectfully I stood within his peripheral vision yet said nothing so that he may turn his attention to me whenever he pleased—

The act of respect irked me and wrought my nerves into strangled bits of matter but I knew it would be best to appeal to his ego if I were to broach such an intrusive topic. Of course he was drugged, a suitable '_plithe d'amour_' that barely marred his stoic face yet had already worked its way through his bloodstream and latched onto that ever elusive organ which sought to thrash every which way except toward mine.

Yet while I waited for him to step off his mighty throne, I inspected him.

At first glance he was the same man I knew nearly eight years before but upon looking deeper into his countenance, I could check each difference with relative ease.

Life had not been kind to my doctor.

His eyes were pale and vicious as ever but there were also too apparent in his skull due to the tired bags underneath them. His face, characteristically blank, bore signs of stress for with every frown or mock-surprise expression he flaunted the not so hidden wrinkles of his forehead became more apparent.

His lips were as full as ever although they seemed a bit pale in the weak lighting, as though the lively blood that once filled them with a rosy shade now struggled to keep a pigment of any sort in the plump flesh.

His cheeks seemed hollowed; the already defined arch of bones was bolder, stark against his skin. His hair remained lush yet in moments of strain as he brushed his hair back, I noticed several silver streaks work their way into his hairline. Even his hands seemed thinner than before…

A scarecrow indeed—

But he was _my_ scarecrow and rather than feel repulsion at these signs of hardship and aging I found myself drawn to him more than ever.

Of course I had aged as well.

My oval face retained its shape but seemed strangely empty of life. Other than the wrinkles across my forehead, the deep bruises on either side of my nose, marking the soft tissue of my eyes and the bags underneath, then the longer lines, almost like that of scars, beneath those, I lacked most signs of wear.

In truth, it was difficult to maintain an emotion which required the muscles of my face to exert itself. Forced apathy had a permanent strain on my face, freezing it in a mask of indifference nevermind the hours spent screaming in horrified agony.

My own lips were as rosy as ever, my bad habit of picking at the dried flesh left it continuously red and more often than not slightly scabbed. My hair had faded a hue, lacking its youthful luster and had already gained a various strands of grey. It was shorter than ever but I didn't mind the change.

My eyes…Well those had changed drastically, the pain had only deepened and the consequence was a perfect expression of such anguish every time I looked into the mirror.

"It's quite rude to stare so insistently, Revis."

Although I was attuned into his presence it seems I had drifted off within my mind which caused me to start slightly at his chiseled words.

"Dr. Crane…I'll be leaving to the woods tonight and I wou—"

He scoffed, "We are in the middle of the summer; there is no snow for you to gallivant through."

I froze, biting back the rush of searing emotions that fought to surface past my control.

Wouldn't he see that I was simply too impatient for the snow?

Yet before I could speak he rose from his seat and headed toward the heavy drapes that secluded the library in gloom only scholars too obsessed to be conscious of the daylight passing into the night used so as to instead rely on artificial light for unknown hours on end. In a sudden motion he drew the thick material away and cast the room in unbearable light.

I hissed as my eyes burned causing me to cover them with my hand.

"You loathe sunlight almost as much as you detest humanity—You would never _willingly_ leave the house at this hour and once the sun has set the persistence of high temperatures would deter you as well."

Momentarily he was silent, allowing me to rub my eyes once more then struggle to see through the piercing radiance—Yet all too soon a tall shadow belonging to my _good_ doctor provided me the relief I sought.

However, what I did _not_ expect was his hand atop my shoulder, the thin fingers latching on in that chilling pattern—index, middle, ring, pinkie, and the sharp squeeze of his thumb.

"If you wish to occupy your time productively you may service me."

I stood my ground, holding my head high, despite the frenzied beating of my heart, "I've tortured enough men to last you awhile longer and your skills within chemistry far surpass my own—"

I struggled to remain standing tall as he placed greater pressure atop my shoulder, "Don't be coy, Revis…"

Gasping, I dropped to the ground in a rush of limbs as I sought to alleviate his exploitations of my pressure-point.

What had he thought t—

"I believe I have use for your services…"

I stared disbelievingly at the fabric of his slacks, his groin perfectly aligned with my head.

"W-What—" I shakily began but I merely found a hand forcing my head closer to his clothed member.

"Did you honestly expect anything else when you appear hardly dressed—or more aptly _undressed_?"

What bullshit! I was wearing the same nightgown I had worn to bed all year!

Angrily I fought to free my head with no success, "Undressed?! I'm very much clothed so don't take your sexual frustrations out on me—"

His fingers cruelly twisted through the shorter layers of the hair on the back of my head, subduing my struggles, "Perhaps I would not have to resort to such measures if you had simply fulfilled your role."

I placed a stabilizing hand on his hip as I jerked back once more, "I'm not your whore!" I attempted to squirm away once more, "And perhaps you've been around Monsieur too much if you're beginning to adopt his views!"

The comment earned an exhale of irritation, "For someone who proclaims to love me, you are quite inconsistent in your affections…"

I flinched, fighting tears as he made a very _low_ move.

"F-For someone who proclaims to _not_ love me, you're quite demanding of said affections—"

I whimpered as his other hand began to unfasten his pants, each noise bringing a new flash of terror to my mind.

I-I couldn't…

But even as I recoiled at the sight of his bare erection, I knew I would.

Had I truly neglected him physically? It had only been a month or so since our last 'interaction' and even that was an explosion of pent up stress complied over the beginning of the year, continuing unto the year before, and the one before that—

No, surely we had done _something_ in the recent past or rather something other than work…

Damn that client, he was the reason for our stress, for _his_ frustrations, for my…my—

Another flex of his hand and his heated flesh jabbed my cheek, smearing precum along the skin.

I shivered, fighting memories—

Tentatively I opened my mouth, dreading the actions to come.

Within the first few minutes I was overcome by both the simplicity of my actions and the pleasure it brought _him_; with each motion of my head he seemed to unwind, so much that I was startled to hear low groan that had obviously _not_ been for my ears.

Yet I was also bombarded by the musk of _him_, the uncomfortable sensation of bobbing my head around his cock, and the revolting _taste_ of flesh and salty precum.

I gagged slightly as the taste increased with an impulsive thrust which caused his member to slide further into my mouth, scraping the back of my throat harshly.

I quickly jerked away, disgusted with the stings of saliva connecting my mouth to his glistening erection, already twitching in the cool air.

Gasping for air, I shook my head but merely felt his hand briefly leave the back of my head to grasp my quivering chin.

My cheeks burned with a deep shame as his eyes possessed a superior gleam taking in every detail of my flushed, sweating face—precum on my lip and a stubborn strand of saliva linking us together. I trembled, on my knees and disgraced. Of all the humiliations to suffer—

I tried to close my eyes and turn away but his grip remained firm, "I expect you to finish."

I heaved slightly at his words, begging silently for mercy; he was unmoved.

Bravely I returned my mouth to his slightly shrunken cock yet fought instantly to not once more rip my mouth away—

A rush of heat shot through me as sweat prickled along my scalp, underarms, and hands. I heaved once more—my mouth barely enclosed around his arousal.

I was going to be sick—

_The cheap wood of the desk, so weighted by a heavy monitor__ and other decorations, slouches__ dejectedly in the d__ark room. Suddenly there sounds the smooth rolling of a wheeling__ chair atop a hard surface._

_ There __is__ a smile on a wide face—a face so similar to mine._

_ Obediently I duck__ down beneath the desk, keeping the humming computer compa__ny. Sometimes the noise bothers__ me but the heat was always welcome as all warmth seemed to leave me the moment I entered his office._

_ Too quickly the chair rolls__ back into place, caging me inside and catching my toe under its wheel._

_ I know better than to make a sound._

_ My neck hurts already but I ignore it—I'll be here awhile._

_ Next comes the shuffle of clothes, the smooth sliding of sweatpants; they fall before me exposing hairy calves._

_ I initially avert my eyes but quickly focus on the weird thing in front of me; I don't want it to poke me in the face again._

_ Eagerly I look for a hand reaching toward me like my hand when I sneak the dogs a special treat from the dinner table—and I'm waiting for a treat, that wonderful bottle of lotion._

_ My stomach plummets as the hand is empty._

_ I hate__ putting it in my mouth._

I gasped, my hands clenching the fabric of my nightgown and that of his slacks—his cock stares me in the face but I'm seeing another—

_His hand steadies himself on the chair as he scoots lower; the thing bounces with each movement._

_ My stomach twists._

_ Knowing I better start soon, I grab it with one hand—the skin is warm and feels wrinkly but firm. I know it'll get slimy later with that icky salty stuff._

_ Opening my mouth around it, I begin._

I felt his hand grasping my hair—

_The hand now rests on the back of my head pulling me forward when he wants me to go deeper; he likes it but it hurts my throat._

_ A noise comes from my throat but I ignore it, I know it will fit._

_ Breathing gets to be hard so I try to breathe through my nose while sucking hard so my spit doesn't drip._

_ There's a new taste in my mouth that's salty and gross. I want to spit it out but already he's angry._

_ "Don't _bite_."_

_ I try again, thinking my teeth are far away from it but he yanks my head back._

_ "I said no biting!"_

_ My back aches and my mouth is sore but I'm too scared to move much—He gets mad when I bump the desk with my head._

_ I try to breathe deeply while my mouth is empty but he puts it back in my mouth, going too deep._

_ There's more noises from my throat but he's busy making noises with his throat too. I'm used to sighs but I know it'll be over soon when he gets louder._

_ "Oh baby, yea…"_

_ I suck harder and move my head forward and backward faster, it's hard to swallow my spit and the gross stuff without 'biting' so I don't._

_ I feel a bit of liquid at the corner of my mouth._

_ "Good girl…Good girl…Ugh…"_

_ His hand forces me to go deep again—He makes another loud noise._

_ Faster. Faster. Deeper. Deeper._

_ I gag when he holds me down, coarse hair poking my face like grass—_

_ I can't BREATHE!_

_ I start to pull back, going against his hand but he doesn't let go._

_ I even put my teeth lower, trying to make him let go._

_ When he does I gasp and give a little cough—I freeze._

_ Although my throat itches badly I don't make any more noise._

_ His hand moves from my head and shakes as he looks for mine. I know he wants me to touch him there but I don't want to—it's slimy._

_ But I do it._

_ I shake like its cold but the air around me is stuffy. My hand wraps around it and he hisses._

_ I stop,__ thinking I hurt him__,__ but he makes another noise—a good noise—so I start moving my hand up and down._

_ Already I've forgotten about my __sore mouth and my itchy throat; __only the taste is there but I'm bored already._

_ I want to watch TV._

_ I roll my eyes knowing he can't see me._

_ He's making more noises, moving too so that the thing slips out of my hand and I have to try to catch it so he doesn't get mad. But every time I hold it, he moves back and it falls out of my hand. When I go to get it again, he moves forward and the thing goes further away._

_ I don't know if I should laugh or get mad but I don't do anything but chase it._

_ Somehow I catch it and I now can move my hand like he showed me. Normally he wants me to use lotion but I can't put it in my mouth if there's lotion on it. Sometimes I get lotion between my fingers and my arm hurts but I like it better than using my mouth. I wish I had lotion now; it's not really wet anymore so it's sticking to my hand and getting warm._

_ I notice more clear stuff come out of the top; I smear it around the top (just like he showed me) and try to make it go lower but it doesn't work all the way._

_ He's getting louder—I wonder if David is going to hear it? The door isn't closed and he's out there watching TV._

_ Lucky…_

_ I blink feeling confused when he abruptly rolls further away, the thing slipping out of my hand but I recognize the faded pink wash-cloth and watch—as always—as he touches it himself then stops when white stuff comes out._

_ It looks weird._

_ I'm still sitting there when he sighs, "Next time you get to swallow this white stuff."_

_ I know he can see me—squished next to the humming computer and rough wood—so I don't do anything but nod._

_ He motions for me to get out as he folds the wash-cloth, I don't see what happens to it because I'm already moving. My legs are numb and tingle and my arms are too cold but I wipe the spit off my face._

_ I feel his warm hand on my back and smile when he can't see me._

_ I love him._

_ But when I stand up and turn to him, looking at his face full of rough hair that scratches my face when I kiss his cheek goodnight, I'm not smiling…_

_ I'm waiting._

_ "Do you like making your Daddy feel good?" he asks, very happy._

_ Sometimes when he's happy, I get mad but I don't know why._

_ I nod because I want to go—_

_ "Nicole…" his voice gets low and I stand up straighter, shaking—I don't want him to yell._

_ "Yes," I say, forgetting my throat hurts until I talk. I try to clear it quietly but can't so I just wait._

_ He smiles, blue gold eyes looking at me; I shift uncomfortably and then stare at his curly brown hair._

_ "Okay honey…"_

_ I turn to leave, wanting to go back out into the sunlight and feel warm again. Maybe I'll play soccer in the backya—_

_ "Maybe we'll have to get you something special for your birthday…"_

_ I turn around, smiling so big my face hurts, "Okay Daddy!"_

_ He motions for me to go, I know he wants to play his games or do more work but I don't care because I want to go._

_ I enter the hallway when I hear him talk again, "Don't forget to wash your hands."_

_ I nod and call back with an 'Okay' but when I'm washing my hands I'm not looking at what I'm doing but thinking of my birthday—I'll be nine!_

I panted, doubling over and gripping my arms uncaring as my nails dig in painfully. Tears came and I didn't stop them—

I think Dr. Crane had been trying to talk to me because I heard an echo of his voice but couldn't think of his words.

"_Do you like making your Daddy feel good?"_

I let out a whine and shook my head although he couldn't clearly see the action.

"Please—P-Please! I-I c-can't do it…" I gasped trying to hide my red face and the ugly shame written all over it, "I'm sorry but I c-can't, I just _can't_."

If he spoke I didn't hear—I was too busy fighting my inner deamons.

I felt a pit in my stomach that grew heavier and threatened to force me to upheave the bile that rose into my throat. I was too hot, flushed and sweating, but I felt ice cold. I couldn't stop the shaking or my rocking, I couldn't breathe without a harsh inhale forcing more air into my lungs. The tears choked my throat, squeezed out of my closed eyes, and ran out of my nose.

I feel a hand—but it's that warm hand on my back, _his_ hand.

"I-I'm sorry Daddy," I sobbed before my breath was gone, "I can b-be a good girl."

Yet the hand recoiled instantly and I realized my blunder—

Oh no.

I didn't dare lift my face but rather I redoubled my efforts; I knew my sobs were obnoxious but I couldn't stifle them.

"Revis."

I shook my head but the tremors tearing through my body masked the motion.

He knows…

He called my name again but I merely wiped at my bowed face, trying to rid it of snot and tears. However it's not until he calls my name a third time that I lift myself up higher but refuse to lift my head, still wiping away the embarrassing signs of weakness that he would no doubt exploit.

"Revis…"

Thin fingers lift my chin, forcing my blotched, wet face into the blinding light. He was crouched in front of me, probably having buttoned up his slacks—

A ragged chunk of air raced down my throat before I realized I had inhaled but it didn't matter because the moment I met his blue eyes I knew I failed him and that blow had me exhaling harshly.

For a moment he lingered as though he wished to say something but didn't; then he left.

I lowered my head, focusing on my jagged breathing as I heard him leave the library—

Shame…I'm so shameful.

I saw the look on his face: cold, _clinical_.

Where was the warmth? The love?

I laughed bitterly but the sound died halfway through—

He received another piece of the puzzle. He knew I was abused by my father; yes. But now he knew in what degrading way—now he knew I really was a whore for even my own father used me as an outlet for his perverse lusts.

I shut my eyes against the thought as my stomach lurched once more.

How could I ever face him after this? What did he think of me? Surely I was just reinforcing his image of an unstable loon but could he truly witness my—whatever that was—and just walk away?

I sniffed, wiping my nose once more.

Yes, yes he could…and I knew why.

For that one instant he stared me in the eye, he was forced to see my pain and for that one second I saw flash of recognition and a scared boy looking back at me.


	68. Chapter 9: Tulips

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers for your feedback and support. I know this story can take some dark turns but thank you for fighting through it-and dare I say, enjoying the fight.**

**Now for this chapter, there's actually quite a funny story. The whole 'tulips' dilemma gets me every I see those red flags so I thought this rather harmless event would fit well in with Revis. **

**Next I would like to once more thank 'PurgatoryNymphe' for her wonderful help in checking over the French used in this chapter and future chapters-thank you! **

**Once more **I**** do not mean any offense to the French people or French language I'm merely poking fun at the stereotype of dramatic French people and as you all will see his actions are an act that he exaggerates. Please do not think that I'm discriminating against a race of people or their language, Merrick is really an interesting character with hidden depths that will be revealed later on.****

****Translations for this chapter are as follows: _philtre_ _d'amour_ =Love potion**** (and) **_roses jaunes_ = yellow roses.**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9<strong>

One Month Later.

_I leaned out on the balcony enjoying the view of the garden below when suddenly a pair of long arms wrapped around my waist possessively._

_ I sighed in __contentment while leaning into his embrace._

_ Things were finally falling into place…_

_ "Aren't those red tulips lovely?" I asked, wishing to draw him into my haze of wonder._

_ He cleared his throat before bre__athing my ear, "I believe those are red flags, Re__vis. Perhaps marking off the area for the gardener."_

_ I froze._

_ Swallowing I leaned forward so as to better view them..._

_ No, those were definitely tulips waving in the breeze—Squinting I continued to look at the red flowers._

_ "Are you feeling alright, Rev__is?" he asked in a concerned tone, his body shifting so as to face me._

_ "Yes, there's probably just a smudge on my glasses," I murmured as my eyes never left the stunning flowers, not even when I reached into the pocket of my dress and pulled out my glasse__s cloth, hoping he wouldn't notice the shaking of my hands as I cleaned the spotless lenses._

_ Why couldn't he see the tulips?_

_ I once more donned my glasses yet the sight was clearer than ever: tulips._

_ Without a word, I broke free of the balcony to journe__y to a desk of scattered books within our large bedroom, "Why don't we review that formula again? We—"_

_ My throat abruptly tightened thoroughly silencing my voice as he leisurely strode toward me, blue eyes filling with a light emotion—Love?_

_ He gently car__essed my neck, "And perhaps afterward we could utilize a new test subject—After all, I have yet to see the effects of the toxin post-mortem."_

_ Disappointment curdled in my stomach—It was pride...fucking pride._

_ "Revis?" he asked as I unconsciously __stiffened, losing myself to my mind._

_I swallowed before meeting his gaze, "That sounds—" my eyes glazed over as I finally understood what he intended._

_I would be expected to examine the dead. No, that was too similar to my previous delusion—I was _not_ Death__; I had no place among the dead._

_ Before he could prompt me, I continued, "—risky...I doubt Monsieur would take kindly to the death one of his employees."_

_ Blue eyes pierced through my weak attempts at discretion yet instead of forcing the matter, he inste__ad leaned in so as to breathe along my neck before kissing the goosefleshed skin gently, "Then perhaps we should kill Monsieur Merrick?"_

_ I laughed lightly, twisting around so as to face him, "Killing your benefactor? Why, that's very..._ambitious_ of you."_

_ He pushed me against the table, his hands wandering along my body chilling me, enticing me, consuming me._

_ I struggled to keep myself in check as he responded, "I am a very ambitious man."_

_ "Dr. Cr—"_

_ "Jonathan," he corrected me before capturing my lips i__n a kiss._

_ My heart raced._

_ Jonathan...His first name—He wanted me to address him by his first name, like an equal!_

_ I moaned into the kiss, briefly breaking it in order to hop onto the edge of the table and pull him closer by his belt loops, "Jonathan..."__ I purred, nuzzling his neck before one of his hands tangled into my hair so as to pull me into a proper kiss while I wrapped my legs around his, locking us into an embrace of passion._

_ Yet even as we began to shed each other's clothing, I found myself won__dering while being pushed down atop a variety of books, if the tulips were flags or if I was falling into a greater level of insanity._

I gazed unseeingly at a bookshelf within our bedroom—the last place Dr. Crane would be. I remained curled up in the white cushioned love seat at the foot of our king sized bed; the plush material provided a soft comfort as I reviewed our past with a doleful _want_ that I had become so accustomed to.

Light drifted in from the open balcony windows but I only perceived darkness…

Closing my eyes and lowering my head with humility, I banished the world in favour of entombing myself within my mind; cobs of the past acting as my death shroud.

In truth each memory clung to my mind like the thick tangle of a spider's web—refusing to allow me to fall into the obscurity of unconsciousness.

Why couldn't things be like before?

Was it really just five years ago that we finally settled into Monsieur's estate—living comfortably with each other (due to my '_plithe d'amour'_)?

A melancholic abyss of mortification and uncontrollable want spread out from my coiled intestines and threatened to destroy me—Surely my demise, this meticulous torture, paralleled the irony of the Fall?

And like all descents, I swiftly plummeted; each wretched thought dragging me down.

Why were things so different from before?

Everything ran smoothly—then Bane arrived…

It was _then_ that Dr. Crane grew even more distant as he raced to secure the perfection the grossly oversized _thing_ demanded. Consequently my hand was forced—

But was it _really_?

I shook my head, ignoring the smooth whispers that cheered on my current position of torturer.

I was _not_ Elocin, I did _not_ desire mayhem, and I would _not_ allow a figment of my first delusion to control my life. I did _not_ enjoy my role but rather I was simply conforming to the necessary evil expected—

Yet it wasn't _necessary_ that I seek out such vile truths to then exploit in helpless men of Monsieur's heftiest men. Or rather it wasn't necessary that I **enjoy** such activities.

I ground my teeth till my jaw ached.

I was _not_ Elocin.

But surely I wasn't Nicole, the innocent girl who many misfortunes had befallen.

So then was I Revis, the foolish woman who struggled to live within her insanity?

I curled into myself further, yearning with all my might to surrender to oblivion. Yet I knew I would not—I _could_ not—for I had promised myself to Dr. Crane.

A searing pang shot through my heart as though the crow necklace—paint chipped around the edges—burned through my chest and branded the offending organ itself.

Flashes of burning thatch houses and screams scarred my already closed eyes.

But Dr. Crane wasn't the only one who had claimed me…

**No.**

I would _not _revert back—

Had I ever reformed?

I hissed in agitation.

She _wasn't_ real.

I _was_ human, I did _not_ possess otherworldly powers, my past life was _not_ of a contracted killer who used the obscure alias 'The Black Rose', and there _wasn't_ an existing Elocin.

Did that mean there wasn't a Merizah?

I squeezed my eyes even tighter, uncaring as bright flashes of light appeared behind my eyelids.

Throughout my entire delusion he was the one person who saw past my sins, the one person who protected me, the one person who _loved_ me—Yet if he wasn't real…

Greif choked my strangled heart further as I remembered the brother I had conjured along with the rest of my delusion.

No matter the tragedy, he stayed by my side; no matter his suffering, he continued to support me; no matter my decline into insidious arts, he loved me.

Yet he too left me…

I was witness to his suicide—a final end to his misery—but I could not hate him for leaving. That night I sobbed as I mentally looked upon my loving brother's face, yearning for those dark, navy blue eyes to open just once more. I cried with the pain of knowing I was unable to be there the entire time, of letting him down, of keeping him from his deceased family (the family _I _had inadvertently killed while raiding a village in my past life), but most of all I cried for not _once_ hugging him in person.

Never would I have the chance to press his warm and breathing body against mine in a hug so tight I would feel his heartbeat. Never would I feel his hand muse my hair or touch my shoulder comfortingly. I wouldn't ever hear his sweet voice again; I would never see him smile or laugh. The very thing that animated him, the brother I loved, was gone.

I cried so much that night, my chest felt as if it'd break. Before then I hadn't faced a more intense agony as losing the one person who I could find solace and love in.

While in actuality I hugged myself as I pressed my forehead against the floor, wailing endlessly in choked sobs, I mentally was by my brother's side.

He was so pure in my eyes. No matter the shadows of his past and mind, no matter the 'darkness' that was in his soul, to me he was the purest person I will have ever known.

To fully accept my delusion as false I would have to also discard the bond between Merizah and me. I would have to admit that he wasn't my brother, that I had never met him and I could have never loved him for there wasn't anyone there…

I hugged myself tighter wishing I could fold myself into nothingness—to embrace the shadows where Merizah rested.

I knew the truth but I could not accept it…I would never _believe_ Merizah to be a mere invention of my mind for I was unable to mourn the loss of my brother. I had spent months lamenting his departure and all these years carefully ignoring the ultimatum within my mind; I was unwilling to once more immerse myself in the anguish I faced upon accepting my delusion to be false—especially knowing the _one_ purity within my life was a lie.

So then was it my refusal to bury Merizah forever that allowed Elocin to resurface as well? Was the sinister mirror of myself thriving from my denial—or was she merely reflecting my core desires? While I understood those times and all that occurred within them to be a falsehood of the worst sort, did Elocin merely confirm my worst fear—that _I_ was truly evil?

I flinched violently when I felt a hand on my bare shoulder yet as I twisted around greedily sucking the air that panic had robbed me of, I noted Dr. Crane's immaculate self.

Yet before I could speak or even straighten myself out from my tensed, defensive pose, Dr. Crane leaned down presenting a bright yellow rose in his hand.

I frowned.

I hated roses for they reminded me of _The Black Rose_, mass murderer and embodiment of evil: Elocin.

And so I stared at the flawless petals with disdain, loathing its perfection and the glistening dew that brought a greater brilliance to the creamy shade—or at least I _did_ until the oppressive feel of his stare overwhelmed me.

Casting my eyes to my doctor I paused as his blue gaze chilled my heart ever so seductively—Why did I yearn for him, even now?

Hiding behind the yellow rose and refusing to broach the _true _source of conflict I stated flatly, "I never thought you to be sentimental, Dr. Crane."

His eyes grew cool, not yet frozen but still distant, "I'm not."

My frown deepened as I furrowed my eyebrows yet he only drew the rose closer to my face before I was able to register the movement and move awa—

I wrinkled my nose at the smell of the offensive flower; so nauseating and cloying. Yet before I could wrench myself away I felt my throat tighten causing me to give a slight cough as I fought to clear my airway with deep breaths.

With a woozy lurch my head dropped as I slumped over, the plush white chair catching my head.

The room spun dizzily…

Distantly, just before my concentration was shredded to oblivion, I felt his free hand stroke the opposite side of my neck while his lips brushed mockingly against my immobile head, "I'm not sentimental at all..."

…

Groggily opening my eyes, I was met with the distressing sight of golden petals gently clasped in my limp hand. My limbs felt asleep, hardly viable, yet I strained to lift my head. The effort was taxing and the moment my head rose I fought to hold the position.

H-He poisoned me…

A smile marred my face—or so it would have if the muscles of my cheek would cooperate.

He cared enough to fool me with the pretense of a flower therefore he _had_ been thinking of me.

Slowed as if underwater, I turned my head to better inspect the room—the midday sun burned high in the sky though the balcony doors were securely fastened and the area lacked any sign of life.

Wasn't it in the afternoon when he drugged me?

Numbly I stood, carefully unfolding my body from its cramped position while being careful to not crease the delicate blossom in my hand; the thorns had not been removed yet I had no fear of pricking my finger.

My body ached terribly but I ignored the pains as if they belonged to another so I would more quickly understand this empty scene.

Empty.

A pang shot through my heart, catching my breath—

If I was underwater before, I was now drowning.

My breath came out in gasps as I rushed to the closet doors. Barreling through the slightly ajar door and jarring my shoulder with the thick wood, I was met with rows upon rows of clothing: to the right my wardrobe lined the wall and to the left—

I clutched my hands, letting out a choked sob as the pain from the thorns echoed the stabbing loss within my heart.

Almost half his clothes were missing…

Swallowing roughly, I dropped the damned rose and bolted from the room, running awkwardly into doorjambs and clipping knuckles against walls or stumbling over rugs, as I fought my way through the forest of furniture and architecture within the wing—I needed to see Merrick.

I didn't care that I was barefoot and bleeding, I didn't care that my skirt had hiked up scandalously high as I raced through the manor, I didn't care if I drew the attention of the 'hired help', I just knew I couldn't rest until I reached Monsieur.

Yet when I burst through his office—out of breath and flushed—I was met with the sight of him shooting up once more.

"What?!" I screeched so full of rage yet also drowning in despair, "You're fucking…taking Thrill…Now...of all ti—" I gasped for air but didn't manage to finish my statement for he calmly injected himself before standing and leaning against his desk.

"Little crow, what is troubling you so that you must come here sweating like a pig and squealing like one sent to the slaughter?"

I snarled, "Where is he?!"

He raised a light eyebrow, more faded than blonde—In fact everything about the once flamboyant Frenchman was washed out: his clothes were rumpled, his hair paling into beige as his skin became more and more bleached, his face gaunt and heavily marred with expressive lines...Even his crooked nose seemed grotesque with the severe transformation.

"Who?"

"Dr—"

"Ah…Yes…" he rubbed the weekly augmentation of scruff along his face, "I am not aware he made arrangements that would require him to seek leave from his position. Had he not thought to leave you a clue to his whereabouts or are you truly so insignificant he saw no use in informing you? Or perhaps you're the _cause_ for his sudden abscond?"

I clenched my hands then remembered my injury as it flared harshly. Hissing between my teeth I responded, "He left me a rose."

He raised both eyebrows disbelievingly, "A rose?"

I nodded.

He scoffed, "What colour?"

I furrowed my eyebrows, although I was recovered from the run my anger kept my heart racing and my breathing deep, "It was a yellow ros—What does it matter?"

He doubled over laughing, his voice left a chill upon my flushed skin, "A _yellow_ rose?"

"**What?**" I growled out, grabbing his creased shirt and twisting the fabric so as to maintain a tight grip.

He wheezed, "You truly _are_ dense—" he chortled again but I when I violently shook him to such a degree his neck cracked, his hands overlapped mine as he sneered, "I only breed _white_ roses—He must have gone out of his way, and mine, to secure such a shade of flora. Besides those _roses jaunes_ are not romantic pledges but cowardly rejections—It does not symbolize _love_ or _devotion_ but an appreciation between _associates_."

He harshly shoved me back yet I was hardly deterred by the motion for I was already lunging forward—an inhuman roar tearing out of my throat adding emphasis to my harsh shove forcing him into the hard edge of his desk.

He stumbled taken aback by my ferocity—and so was I.

Yet I did not hesitate as my hand, already injured from the rose, smoothly wrapped around the ribbed texture of his trachea. I had not realized my action until my left hand was already bound toward his head. When my knuckles dug into his face, whipping it sharply to one side, I was already pulling back to repeat the action.

Blood began to collect along my blurring fist but I did not slow—He struggled under my restraining hold around his throat but could not properly defend himself under the torrent of jarring blows to his skull.

Both of my hands screamed in protest and so I screamed along with them as I viciously tore him from his supine position against the desk and threw him to the floor. He scrambled to turn into himself—to either protect his precious face or rise I was unsure—but I was already astride him batting away his blind attempts to overthrow me as I tore into his exposed flesh and even shredded the flimsy fabric of his shirt as I gave into my bloodlust.

I wanted him to **bleed**.

He then began to holler in between the bruising blows and deep lacerations yet I was already warmed to this rage roaring in my ears, heating my body, unleashing the suppressed berserker within myself.

I lifted his tattered shirt, forcing his heaving chest to rise as well, before slamming him down harshly. My punches grew sloppy and my wild clawing dulled until I was merely smacking him with my burning palms.

Frustrated sobs gurgled in my throat as I wrestled to contain my suffocating fury and desperate yearning for Dr. Crane—I knew my brutal attack now mirrored a toddler's temper tantrum but I could not stop.

Thankfully(?) two strong men lifted me into the air, flailing limbs and all, and managed to subdue me while a third rushed to his employer's aid. My guess was they hesitated to act out of either fear from the rumors of my tortures upon such 'hired help' and the desire to see _some_ punishment bestowed upon their irksome boss before they intervened.

I didn't know the protocol for thugs, especially the expensive sort, but swiftly and _softly_ dragging me away did _not_ seem normal.

However, halfway through their long trek through the mansion—towing me along—I began to calm myself. My rage had not cooled but rather it returned to its darkened corner of my mind to sulk. I was not thinking when I had attacked Monsieur but now the obvious repercussions of my actions surrounded my mind.

Here I was, a grown woman of thirty-one—thirty_-two,_ I had silently celebrated my birthday two weeks ago_—_and I had allowed my anger to usurp my limited rationality.

But what rationality can be expected from the insane?

My face dropped so suddenly I felt dizzy from the quick shift in mood. In fact, it wasn't until we were in front of the two doors leading to the North Wing that I was once more brought into reality by the voice of one of the men, "You are to be locked within the wing; Monsieur Merrick will join you later."

I hadn't time to retort or even blink before the doors had opened and I was ushered inside. If any thought of escaping filled my mind, it then died when I heard the **clunk** of a lock upon the door.

Yet in this time, so estranged from a functional reality, I was caught adrift in this wing—in my mind—and could not fathom an escape.

Where would I leave to?

Numbly, I walked through the open foyer and past the striped hallway, skipping past the library and laboratory, only stopping when I was once more within the confines of our bedroom.

Ceremoniously I journeyed to the closet and collected that troublesome rose; briefly it caught my eye but I found nothing worthwhile to note and soon left the room with the flower in tow.

Slow, measured steps were absorbed by the thick carpet as I glided toward the center of the room. For a moment my eyes absorbed the finery that had become so familiar but the time had passed for such trivialities.

On shaking knees, I lowered myself to the white carpet until I was seated with my legs crossed atop one another. Carefully I placed the yellow rose before me, taking in the contrast between its flaxen petals and the snow like flooring…

And waited.


	69. Chapter 10: Thrill

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers for your wonderful feedback! It's good to know you guys are still interested in the story!**

**Now I've been meaning to say this for awhile but I've always been side-tracked. 'XxVeo the Demon HunterxX' previously known as 'Worldwide Phenomenon' has not only had an awesome roleplay up: forum/Welcome-to-the-Asylum/122668/ but also has cosplayed Revis on Deviantart as '~AliceTheMarchHare'. Feel free to check out the roleplay and join if you want, look at her stories on her profile, and look at the wonderful cosplay on her deviantart as well as her other works!. **

**Next I would like to once more thank 'PurgatoryNymphe' for her wonderful help in checking over the French used in this chapter and future chapters-thank you! **

**Once more **I**** do not mean any offense to the French people or French language I'm merely poking fun at the stereotype of dramatic French people and as you all will see his actions are an act that he exaggerates. Please do not think that I'm discriminating against a race of people or their language, Merrick is really an interesting character with hidden depths that will be revealed later on.****

****Translations for this chapter are as follows: ******_roses jaunes_ = yellow roses.**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10<strong>

The rose had wilted.

Hours turned into days and days into weeks.

Its once yellow hue was now faded into obscurity.

I waited unfailingly in that room.

Its once plush petals were now curdled, mirroring the mocking smirk of my missing doctor.

I refused to leave except for the nagging necessities of the living.

Its once supple stem was now brittle all moisture drawn out until this mere shade of the rose remained.

Monsieur Merrick bestowed clemency, allowing me to remain prisoner.

I held the rose close to my chest as I curled into myself on that snowy floor.

Weeks turned into months.

Each day and well into the night, I whispered to that damned rose.

I had no use for continuing his client's research; the men were freed.

My tears punctuated each 'I love you' I reverently spoke to the dead flower.

His 'client' did not return.

I marked the hours, pouring my heart into each sobbed sentiment I had failed to impress upon him while we lived together.

He did not return.

…

"Oh my little crow, what has befallen you?"

I didn't look up at the sound of the arrogant Frenchman; he often attempted to rouse me of my stupor but failed.

"Are you truly so distraught over a man who could not be bothered to bestow you a proper parting?"

"…"

A disgruntled sigh filled the air.

"I have been a kind benefactor all these years, no? I have supplied you with home and food, wealth and opportunity, yet you repay me by secluding yourself in this dreary wing wishing on wisps for the day he _may_ return?"

He paused.

"You have not forgotten the terms of your agreement, have you little crow?"

He cleared his throat, "I have sheltered you and catered to your whims for a proposition of mutual benefaction—that is to say you were allowed anything you wanted, _including_ that doctor of yours, if you returned my generosity with whatever poisons I sought. It is time you shed your foul garb and silence your unseemly sobs. You have had your time to mourn; now you must return to the living."

I shook my head, cradling the rose within my arms as I croaked out another broken 'I love you' to the dead petals. My voice caught as tears wracked my body—

"I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I l-love you. I…lo-love y-y-you—"

"How disgusting you are! Pick yourself from the floor—After all you should give your benefactor the proper respect he deserves _especially_ after you have brutally assaulted him."

His words could not touch me.

"I…I-I love…I love…I love you."

"I can have you thrown away forever! Tossed in a cell and spit on for _years_ before someone thought to ask your name—and you would be far, _FAR_ away from that sickening rose!"

I quieted my wails although my lips still moved in that familiar pattern—

_I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you._

He vented his rage upon some expensive bauble for I heard its resounding **crack** fill the air with a painful explosion of noise as the glass shattered against a wall.

He was panting heavily, "You _will_ answer me!"

_I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you._

He let out a strangled noise—more of a groan than a sigh—before his presence overwhelmed my delayed senses.

Deep gashes of outrage filled the air with violent arcs while the ugly drudge of desperation settled over everything like a film of malevolence.

_I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you._

He did not touch me but his words were more profane than any physical violation.

"You are to rise this instant! I am lacking Thrill and _you_ shall once more display your craft by producing more."

Thrill?

He disturbed me for a fucking _**drug**__**?!**_

My head whipped up, startling my weak eyes, free of glasses, as I was bombarded with the sight of colour and matter.

Red eyes, blood vessels already ruptured with the strain of grieving, glared heatedly at the pathetic man before me.

He was not imposing—He was simply an addict suffering from withdrawal.

His eyes too were bloodshot although mine far surpassed his in degrees of irritation. His frame was more shrunken than ever and spasmed without warning. Even his designer clothes seemed to draw attention to the utter lack of _man_ beneath their styled stitchery. Yet my eyes were drawn to his face—so haggard and faded.

He was not dangerous—He was simply a sad man.

I snarled, "You do not deserve happiness!"

He spit back, "You do not deserve love!"

I was taken aback; his words had pierced my innards with steel forged by a hatred so alien I could not identify its original spark.

He did not stop, "Here you lie, sniveling into the floor as if your pathetic doctor could hear your prayers—Yet you forget he cannot even fathom your love!"

My chest heaved with the strain of inhaling such large quantities of air, "HE **LOVES** ME—!"

My voice cracked interrupting the heated retort that was more fiction than fact.

Yet when I lowered my head, the bastard assumed I had accepted defeat, "Yes, bow your head in submission, hide your hideous face of grief with your matted hair, and accept that Stephen is gone and your doctor _left _you, Leonie!"

Immobilized by the stagnant stench of buried secrets, I watched as he came undone.

First he ran his hand through his silvered hair, the reedy strands already greased by the oils of his body. Next he huffed, as though he was unable to hold a breath in his quivering chest. He rubbed his other hand over his mouth, the bleached scruff stuck out in patches along sagging cheeks. His green eyes, once alit with mirth were now uncomfortably bare, displaying the too human signs of panic and regret. He shuddered once more before fixing me with a look of absolute loathing—the hand muffling his silent mouth now waved at me with vigor.

"You are to once more create Thrill—" his voice cracked, revealing the beggar within "Give me the drug…"

Still confounded by his lapse I remained unmoved.

"**GO!"** he hollered.

I merely stared—

Then before I could stop my mouth it was twitching, morphing into a beastly snarl as my voice lowered to an abhorrent tone, **"I hope you rot within your filthy mansion—devoured by the vermin you breed…You deserve to **_**DIE!**_**"**

His nostrils flared with outrage yet he condensed his emotions into one word, **"Now…"**

Our eyes battled, seething rage clashing with desperation as our individual pain was barely masked by the bared teeth of our glare—goading one another to give into our frenzied passions urging us to _bite_.

Yet he suddenly subdued his violent excitement as a long forgotten smirk surfaced despite the increased shudders of his body, "I assumed you would relish such an occasion...tonight is the first snowfall of winter."

I gasped harshly, physically flinching at his soft words.

Then he left—for he had already dealt a mortal blow.

Yet even after he was gone, only the stench of his raw desperation and agitation marking his previous presence, I found myself unable to return to my bereavement.

Curiously my strained eyes slid to the balcony, curtains parted—just like the day he left.

My mouth parted as my lower lip trembled at the sight of fresh snow floating down in unhurried tufts. A strangled noise, a mix of a cry and a moan, escaped my throat as I took in the bittersweet sight.

Yet my eyes were soon tugged back to the rotten rose, its shriveled form was once the constant within my mind—the tick-tock of my beating heart—but that the snow had arrived…

Which would I choose?

…

My breath fogged the frosted glass as an obvious aura of cold radiated from its surface.

The first snowfall of the season.

I felt a pull, between the deadened bloom and the centre of my chest, yet I resisted its call so as to be better frozen by the icy atmosphere that was mere inches from my body.

Would I leave?

N-No, I _couldn't_—

Yet I knew I was when I slipped into the smooth lining of my trench-coat and fastened my steel-toe boots onto my socked feet. I didn't care that I was clad in a skirt over leggings and a shawl over a camisole; I would be leaving once more.

Tentatively I unlatched the balcony doors—my heart suffering the lacerations of separation from the rose, _his_ rose, as I continued.

The churlish wind washed over me, causing my scalp to prickle and my skin to tighten; I smiled.

First one step amid the fine powder…then another.

I lost my breath as I stood amid the cascading petals of frost, layering the world in blessed snow.

How could I have resisted the call of winter?

Two more steps brought me to the edge of the stone balcony; its smooth surface exuded an even deeper perception of the wintry chill than the previous barrier of glass.

Soon I was so close to the edge, it seemed as though I was aloft amid this darkened night—filled with such a cold light—completely enshrouded by this tomb of silence and serenity, such a consuming, bittersweet serenity.

The longing for my forest jolted me forward, into the stone blockade, yet just as quickly I stiffened and pulled back.

How would I descend?

The obvious route through the manor held too much danger of running into 'hired help' or Monsieur himself—yet was it possible to scale down to freedom?

My fingers shook with anticipation as I leaned down, searching the walls nearest to the estate for any finger holds or better yet a ladder of some sort. Didn't he grow roses along the house?

Frustrated, the heat of anger ruining the numbing presence of snow, I stormed to the other side of the balcony and repeated my hunt—there!

Sure enough a wooden grid, painted white by the snow, was secured to the manor's external wall allowing white blooms—forever preserved by the ice encrusting its petals—to grow. Yet the paneling was well over five feet from the balcony…and there was no telling how stable it was.

Well there was one way…

My heart jolted and for a moment I was transported back to my highschool years when I took a rock climbing course in gym. As always there was an initial terror of heights yet the rope was always a reassurance—and now there was no rope, no spotters, nothing but the frigid night air and my trembling body, my very _human_ trembling body that could very easily go **splat** against the frozen ground.

I exhaled in a measured breath despite the sign of mortality apparent in every quickened, painfully loud, thrashing of my heart.

No, this was the same as that rock climbing course, there were footholds and handholds and fingerholds all present in the loose latticed wood, I had only to find them. My rope was present in my balance and my spotter…Well, this was no different than self-repelling—although that was an arduous task in which I heavily relied on the rope.

No matter that, I could maintain my balance—it was just like climbing down a tall tree…a _very_ tall tree.

Heart pounding I threw a leg over the thick ledge of the balcony only thinly covered in snow as a pang of adrenaline and fear shot through my heart yet my body was too leeched of warmth to pay too much attention to the sensation.

Shaking already, I lowered my chest until I was clasping the rough stone with my arms—for a moment I was afraid they wouldn't let go of the rock, the only thing keeping me anchored to the building, but once they _did_ move I realized I was more afraid _of_ letting go.

Where had all this fear come from?

I sucked in another ragged breath as I forced my hips to move so as to swing both my legs over until all I was hanging by the ledge with my arms hooked over and my feet precariously perched in between the pillars of the balcony.

Exasperated, I edged to the right, closest to the manor's wall, as my shaking limbs threatened to give out. Hating myself for the necessity, I glanced down to the latticed wood but unknowingly caught an all too real view of the far away ground. My chest felt as though it would bruise from the intense beating of my heart—

I was _definitely_ not sixteen anymore…

My weight shifted, the thick toe of my boot slid off its perch almost casting me into the abyss of night.

I let out a wheezy exhale, struggling to secure my balance once more.

I was _definitely_ not seventeen either…

Hating myself intensely yet refusing to boost myself up to safety, I slowly let go of the ledge, sliding my sweating hands slowly across the snowy ledge until I was holding onto the edge. Snow fell into my face and briefly obscured my vision but I shook my head, my sweaty hair swinging into my face until I shook it out once more. I was breathing in short puffs, my muscles straining although I had barely begun.

Whimpering I threw off one arm in order to tightly grasp one of the stone pillars of the balcony. I readjusted my grip a few times, hoping to wear away the sweat before removing my other arm—

Another deep breath and I forced my left arm to follow, forcing my stomach back into its proper body cavity rather than my throat as my body shifted backward even further. Now I was crouched on the edge of the balcony, the closest to the wooden grid as possible—yet nowhere near close enough for a safe descent.

My fingers were slipping, my arms burning, yet I found myself frozen—

I jerked down slightly before briskly readjusting my grip.

I felt sick…

I closed my eyes tightly then opened them as I looked down once more in order to plot my next move—and quickly.

If I jumped…there was no telling if I could catch myself in the woodwork or simply plummet to certain injury—or maybe I would catch myself and break almost every finger on my hand as the digits strained to clutch onto the wood until each extremity was grossly bent. No doubt the pain would cause me to fall but if by some miracle I managed to stay on, my fingers would be beyond useless…

My stomach twisted at the thought yet I knew my only solution was to get as close as possible then jump. Even so, I found myself wishing I had tied a sheet into knots and made an impromptu rope. While I was skeptical of the thin fabric holding my weight, any reassurance was welcome at this point—

My fingers protested with sharp pains as I hurriedly thought over the safest way to approach this…

I exhaled, shifting once more, before lowering myself even more while making sure both arms were securely wrapped around the pillar. Closing my eyes tightly I allowed my feet to drop while tensing my arms as the tug of gravity threatened to dislodge my grip as my body jerked harshly against the stone balcony.

My ribs ached and tears of panic fought to cloud my vision but I blinked them both away, hating the situation almost as much as the snow which melted on my flushed skin, mixing with the sweat. Swiftly I felt along with my dangling feet attempting to touch the woodwork—

Nothing.

Risking a glance, more scared than ever, I noticed I had a foot or two to go…

I licked my chapped lips but regretted it as the cold stung my flushed face. Struggling with myself—to not fall into doubts or the air—I jerkily lowered myself, feeling as though my arms were being torn from their sockets as I once more kicked the air hoping to feel anything.

Nothing.

I shifted once more, steadying my grip as I—

Fell.

My scream was stolen by a gusty gasp as I flailed about, trying to pull myself to the wood by sheer will. Yet the next moments were too much of a blur to understand.

White flashed before my eyes, the texture of thorns and wood whipped against my cheek, scraped against my hand, the darkness of night seared my closed eyes, more white (roses?) passed between my squinted vision, and then I felt the terrible sensation of dropping into the acidic, wintry air.

Yet next all I registered was **pain**.

Grasping wildly with all my senses—all my strength—I found myself clinging to the wooden grid at least three feet from its top. I scrambled to secure my position through the consuming pain and wild fear as my feet clung to the woodwork long enough for me to shift my hands but then slipped on a slick leaf or corner of the wood.

I muffled my cry by biting my arm; the cold and slippery material filled my mouth but could not silence my wail.

My breath filled the air in front of my face, obscuring the sight before me as my body was seized by violent shudders—I needed to move, _now_.

Painstakingly I began to descend, feeling out better footholds and handholds within the loosely woven wood. I tried to keep my body close to the wall in order to better control the amount of mass which deadly gravity could drag down yet my body was worn, too shaky to properly control.

At times I was able to tense my muscles and maintain the proper position as I hurriedly descended yet too often I was seized by a tremulous fatigue which sapped my strength and forced my body to lean back into the open night, sagging to the point of danger. Yet I pushed on, weaving my frozen fingers through tangles of roses to seek the wood beneath.

I never looked down, only focusing on reaching the ground as quickly as possible—which wasn't very quick at all.

After quite some time, well past my limit, I noticed my hands could barely clasp the bitterly cold wood…

I would have swallowed nervously if I was able to do anything but deeply inhale and exhale, too worn out to do anything but maximize the amount of air to reach my lungs despite my spinning head and stinging cheek.

I descended a few more feet until I realized my hands couldn't close at all. Each time I tried my fingers could barely indent before all feeling was lost, in fact I could barely maintain my current grip.

I was confident that it wasn't frostbite, no matter the pain of my cold hands which highlighted the _many_ lacerations across the exposed skin but rather I knew I had expended my muscles past their limits and now I was victim to muscle fatigue.

Gasping raggedly for a full breath and silently abhorring the glacial burn of the night air, I jerkily turned my head and noted the ten foot drop to the ground.

So close…

I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the snowy wood, fearing my hands may give out wholly any second—

And they did.

I didn't scream, I didn't feel, I didn't even see, all I experienced was crushing black…

Even as I lay spasming on the snow layered earth, I was unable to perceive anything but a distant burning in my chest.

Moments passed before I realized I had landed harshly and successfully stunned my diaphragm causing me to flounder about like a fish out of water. A few agonizing seconds stretched out before I was able to greedily suck in air, searing my lungs and bringing attention to my aching chest then to the blurred yet quickly sharpening pain in my spine.

I allowed tears to flow on either side of face, uncaring that I was successful in my endeavor—not even the once alluring snow could comfort me now. In fact, the chilled earth leeched the rest of my strength until I wished nothing but to be back inside, safe and warm with my ugly rose.

Nevermind my useless longings, I wouldn't have the strength to climb for _quite_ some time, I knew I had left for a more important reason, a reason _worth_ the pain and cold.

I was seeking Dr. Crane…or rather waiting for him.

He knew each winter, when the night sky was only lit by a faint purple from within the clouded depths of the heavens, I would be out in the woods. What if he journeyed here and found no one waiting?

No, I could never betray him like that—already I had deceived him when I yearned for nothing more than honesty. Just one night in the woods and I would be able to reveal my deceit, rid myself of this damned secrecy, and then embrace him without any ruse impeding our love…well, _my_ love.

Spurred by my thoughts, my sole reason for embracing the night of frost, I stood; each movement was excruciating yet I refused to let any sound but my sharp inhalations fill the air.

I would be there…for Dr. Crane.

Yet as I trekked through the snowy woods, the snow crunching loudly in the lonely night, my hopes faded into a dismal truth—He wasn't there.

No matter the trails I wore into the snow, the crisscrossing pattern of my journey and the many backtracks I made, I knew he hadn't journeyed to the woods this night just as he hadn't any other night…

He was truly gone.

My limbs were numbed, my fingers knotted into my palm so as to both conserve warmth within my deep pockets and suppress the intense pain radiating from every inch of exposed skin, even my cheeks were nipped by the cold air—or perhaps that was the cut along my cheek?—, but I continued to walk, too despaired to stop and give into my grief.

My chapped lips grated against one another as my jaw trembled uncontrollably in a mix of the cold night and my bereft sentiments. The burning pain from my ears also caused me great discomfort yet I resisted the temptation to rub them from the misfortune of a past experience and the effort it would demand of my abused hands.

Nevermind my melancholy mood, I found myself at the foot of the manor once more.

Yet could I ascend?

I struggled to flex my frozen fingers within my pocket but cried out with the pain exerted from the minor movement.

Shouldn't I end this madness and simply walk around to the front rather than risk my life—_again_—to return to our bedroom?

Yet didn't I have a reason for avoiding such an obvious route?

Tears once more threatened, desperate and exhausted tears, yet I persisted, hoping to shut out the pain—

Ha! I would have a greater chance of shutting out the gaping hole within my heart.

So as I began my climb, unable to feel my muscles or maintain a proper grip on the latticed wood, I opened my mouth—not in order to take greater breaths—but to mutely scream in agony.

Miraculously I wound up more than halfway which encouraged me to finish—my only goal to reach the top of the biting wood, nevermind the impossible exertion required to climb onto the balcony itself.

Minutes passed as my clumsy hands and blockish feet poorly navigated the tangle of thorns and slippery wood. It seemed that I had been playing with fate, dangling myself above the abyss of death like a daring taunt, for far too long with no progress…

Each stumbling, excruciating step, every violent tremor within my arm, even the brutal torment of my battered hands, seemed to bring me nowhere closer to the top than the movement before.

Overwrought, I laid my flushed yet chilled head against the thorns of a rose as I struggled to gather the will to push through when it would be so easy to just let go and fall…Wasn't I already slipping?

I furrowed my eyebrows, a choked sob soundlessly escaping my cracked and bleeding lips, as I forced my protesting body to continue. Blindly I began to climb, trying vainly to fool my mind into believing I was resting while forcing my body to exert itself beyond its limits. Many searing steps passed in this manner before I raised my hand only to find I was touching a flat surface. The sensation in my hands had left me long ago but I was still able to detect the absence of impediments such as flora or wood.

Disbelievingly, I tore open my eyes then instantly regretted it as the return of my sight brought an overwhelming wave of nausea over my body. I heaved for a moment before remembering I had nothing to vomit and I was only wasting precious energy with each involuntary yet violent lurch of my stomach.

The nausea hadn't cleared but I fought to see past it, to bringing reassurance that this hellish experience would soon be over—yet as I stared at the outside wall of the manor a cry tore out of my throat as I realized the impossibility of ascending much further.

What was the purpose of this fruitless endeavor if I was unable to succeed? Had I journeyed so far only to be fated to plummet down once more?

"Hey!"

Blearily I turned my head toward the noise, so faint it barely registered in my mind, but I was unable to concentrate on anything—even my body's position on this twisted precipice.

"Shit—there—her—now!"

The words came in short bursts; my body swayed.

I lurched back then forward, barely catching my balance in this haze of misery.

"Wait—don't—time—hurry!"

Weakly I thought of reaching for the balcony, so close—the previous span of six or seven feet was reduced a mere inch in my mind. Yet my hands were so far away, I couldn't differentiate between the wooden grid and my scalding red hands, red from….from something.

Blood or ice?

Yet it didn't matter for I was ripped away from the latticed wood and jerked up by unseen forces—but I didn't care, my agony had not ended but was rather amplified by the rough treatment to my ribs and then the rest of my body as I was dragged harshly against stone.

Hell…this was hell.

I coughed as I hit the pavement of the balcony, shadows obscuring my vision before I was transferred inside by the unseen entities.

"Hypother—setting in—unless—to—survive?"

Another voice spoke, "No—recovery—unnecessary—fine."

The first voice responded, "Are—sure—Monsieur—paid—keep—alive?"

The second voice scoffed, "Trust—know—doing—help—move—here."

I was moved once more, whining slightly though the pain in my throat quickly silenced my efforts.

The first voice spoke, "She'll—fine—here."

There wasn't a reply for quite some time but then the second voice sounded, "When—wakes—Monsieur—talk—her."

"Later—need—rest."

Then there was silence, leaving me adrift in misery as my numbed body so agonized yet so detached began to regain sensation in the most horrible way. For a moment the pain overshadowed that of Dr. Crane's absence but before I understood why, my body's suffering lulled, then the world faded out.

…

I awoke to severe pain in my ribs, spine, and hands—all very real reminders that I was alive. When my eyes opened, assaulting my mind with light and the disgustingly familiar details of our bedroom, I was reminded of _his _absence.

While I didn't want to move, I had to use the bathroom—badly.

I attempted to move gingerly, treating each limb with tender respect to its half-registered injury, but I ended up stumbling out of bed and straight into a suited man, one of Monsieur's 'hired help'.

"Monsieur Merrick wishes to speak to you."

I shook my head, trying to force an audible language through my hoarse throat, "W-W-" I tried to clear my throat but instead clutched it as the pain in both my hand and my trachea flared terribly, wheezing I tried again, "Wait…"

He was about to argue so I tried again, "Ba—Bath…Bathr-Bathr—Bathroo," my voice abruptly cut out but he understood and with a slight nod allowed me to relieve myself and inspect my injuries in peace.

And my oh my, what injuries I had.

What was worse? The slash across my cheek—would it scar?—or the bruised and severely lacerated hands? No doubt there were bruises along my ribs and back from the various abuses of that night but I hadn't the energy to check and there was no way the pain was worth it.

So when I had finished relieving myself and washing my hands, I took a drink from my clean yet brutalized hands—ignoring the pain as one ignores the sensation of being burned alive.

There was a knock at the door reminding me of the obligations I had instead of the leisurely time I _wanted _to sob over my injuries.

I left the room, my mind shredded into ribbons, then tangled into a throbbing mess yet I only possessed enough thought to remember my rose—and that was all I needed.

My throat was scratched raw by acrid air and overexertion which replaced my voice with a hoarse croak, yet I spoke anyway, "Rose…"

I cleared my throat painfully.

"My rose…Where…Where is my rose?"

"Monsieur Merrick wishes to speak with you," the suited man briefly intoned.

While I was exhausted and battered, wishing nothing more than to fall right back into bed, I steadied my swaying body in what I hoped was an aggressive stance, "No. I need my rose—"

I lurched toward the centre of the room—panic stabbing my heart in frenzied thrusts at the fear of the man crushing it in an absence of thought. I had left it on the floor, unprotected…What if he hadn't seen it and stepped on it by mistake?

Yet before I could make much progress—stumbling and shaking—the man restrained my comical attempts, "Your possession has been confiscated; it will be returned to you once you speak with—"

"Give me **MY ROSE!**" I hollered, becoming energized by my fury.

Nevermind the rising berserker within me, the suited man easily subdued my efforts and began to drag me through the room and out of the wing itself. However, just outside the door of our bedroom, another suited man awaited and without a word assisted the first man in carrying me through the manor at times hoisting me in the air in order to decrease the amount of resistance caused by my dragging feet.

Time was meaningless, whether the journey back took hours or seconds I couldn't tell, but once the door to Monsieur's office stood in front of us, my efforts doubled and at this point the suited men were only too happy to quickly open the doors and let me loose within its confinement.

In all honesty, I was struggling to merely stand; I _really_ should be in bed but some things were more important than rest, some things were worth risking my life—or rather someone…Someone like Dr. Crane.

"Ah my little crow," the words were brittle and grating, seeming so _wrong_ coming from the desperate man who was wasting away before my eyes.

Monsieur had fallen even further in the span of one night; more skeletal than I would have thought to be possible and a thousand times more frantic.

His attempts at grandeur, something so simple, almost natural before, now seemed horribly forced, "I suppose you're looking for your precious _roses j__aune__s_?" he licked his thin lips, wetting the dried skin, "You…" he steadied his swaying body, barely fit to stand, "You shall receive it when you give _me_ my drug."

His eyes burned with a deadened fury that caused my heart even more strain as I fought to retain some measure of dignity despite my wheezing breath and trembling body.

"I want my rose…" I spoke, my voice sounding guttural due to the previous exertion with his 'hired help'.

"GIVE ME THE **DRUG!**" he bellowed, his cheeks puffing and shrinking madly.

I tightened my hands into fists as I lunged forward, "GIVE ME THE **ROSE!**"  
><strong>"THE DRUG, <strong>**REVIS****!"**

I was momentarily startled at the force of his words and the use of my name but soon recovered as I staggered toward his desk, my voice growing even more estranged, "No…You are to **GIVE ME THE ROSE!**"

He laughed.

Wheezing, spittle flying, trembling voice gurgling grotesquely in his throat; he laughed.

"You…" he pitched forward so only the span of five feet lied between us, "You will do as I say! **Give me the drug…**" his voice lowered to a growl which I eagerly matched.

"**Give me the rose."**

He snarled flinging his hands in the air only to stumble over with the force of his actions, barely catching himself, "Damn you!" he broke out into a phlegmy cough.

"**Revis…"**

He began to pant.

"**Give. Me. The. Drug."**

I shook my head, laughing as my chest constricted with the excruciating pain of breathing deeply; half delirious I responded, smiling in a sign of dejected triumph yet yelling towards the end, "No…I won't do anything for the **LIKES OF YOU!"**

Although my demented smile was faltering, giving way to a viscous snarl, he was undeterred, "I **NEED **THE** DRUG!"**

I backed away, a pained expression of superiority reflected on my face, "No."

I continued to retreat, unable to stop shaking my head in a mocking expression only marred by my eyes which no doubt betrayed my internal agony, "No, I'll **NEVER **give **ANYTHING** to you!"  
>He held my gaze, a broken need shining through his glassy eyes; he was willing to drag us both into the grave if only to receive his damned drug…and I was <em>far<em> from disrupting his plans.

Whether it killed us both, I would never let him win.


	70. Chapter 11: Confinement

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers for giving me such great support! I'm watching the chapters fly by with amazement. I only have two more to write so I'm majorly excited to finish Mors Et Timor and get a breather before I start writing the sequel! I have quite a bit planned so I hope you all enjoy that! However, I'll give you guys more details later and not bore you now.**

**Oh and in this chapter I clarify more fully the (changed) events of Batman Begins. I'm writing a short story titled 'Blue Flower' to correctly portray Crane and Ra's' first meeting and the beginning process of synthesizing but that's not done yet. Whenever I go against the source I use when writing fanfiction (comic, movie, game, etc.) I like to write a 'canon' short-story as a sort of 'apology' for changing things. I even wrote a blog about it on my scarecrow fangirl blog (how I have continuously forgotten to mention this I will never remember) type: luxanimus13 dot wordpress dot 2012/12/18/the-blue-flower/ don't forget to change dot to ' . ' and delete the spaces because fanfiction likes to delete links. Feel free to read through my fangirl rants, funny pictures, phobia talk, and whatever else I've posted on there.**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 11 Dr. Crane's POV<strong>

Three months have passed since I departed from the manor and Merrick, per Bane's 'request'. Three months in which I've traded an ill-fitting collar attached to a short leash for an enclosed doghouse. Freedom was merely a mask for imprisonment as my previous post within a well-furnished, extravagant estate was discarded for a claustrophobic cell-like corner within Bane's sewer metropolis.

He required perfection yet even when he was presented with it, he called for even more. Three years of hardship merely accepted without a second glance then turned aside in favour of yet _another_ demand.

How I loathed that man…that brute masquerading as master—just as _all_ bullies do.

Yet the storm looming over Gotham, its black depths churning unto itself until its mass grew too large to ignore, had arrived and required certain arrangements to be made before the brunt of its force hit.

Arrangements specifically involving Revis…

Seeking to maintain some measure of dignity, I rose from my rickety cot and smoothly strode out onto the slick web of metal which made up the walkways of the sewers. After weeks upon weeks of navigating the ill lit pathways and various tunnels, I was far more proficient at journeying through damp pits of metal and waste than I had ever wished to be. In fact, after three months without sunlight I grew even _more_ resentful toward my newest 'employer'.

While I was left alone, unguarded and without restraints, I had no chance of escape—Not when I was within Bane's territory; his underground compound was flooded with his own militia ranging from highly trained assassins from some exotic land to stumbling devotees, blinded or (like myself) blackmailed into servitude.

In truth this was not the first time I was enlisted by the League of Shadows.

Many years ago, almost in beginning of my career as a psychiatrist, I was approached by a well groomed man who went by the name Henri Ducard. Somehow it seemed my early exploits against my former board of education, including _dear _old Professor Pigeon, my grandmother, and a slightly botched attack against my father, had a greater effect than I had thought.

Perhaps my close run in with the vigilante of Gotham, the Dark Knight himself, did not put an end to my growing appetite for criminal activity but rather attracted the attention of an equally illicit organization which sought out my rising expertise in chemistry.

Despite my close escape from incarceration, I learned the value of living undeterred and declined to so soon return to a life spent correcting my tormentors, perfecting my poisons, and soothing the insistent demand for **revenge**. Of course, the League wasn't very approving of my choice but only a month of pressured meetings and not so subtle threats, they relented.

Soon after, Gotham was held siege by the League's newest plot—Yet in the end, as so many tabloids continuously proclaimed, Gotham prevailed.

However, Bane did _not_ forget the blow I had dealt his organization.

One more bend wrapping around the ever-present rush of flooded waste, and I had arrived at Bane's main platform of operation. 'Luckily', he was present.

Although my footsteps had echoed throughout the canal, announcing my presence far before I had arrived, he raised his light eyebrows in surprise. While more reserved than the extravagant Frenchman, he was no less theatric.

Yet when he stood, his hulking mass of 6'7" easily towered over my (by comparison) slight stature.

Then again, while possessing great power, Merrick was in no manner _greater_ than Bane.

"Dr. Crane…" that grating, automated voice filled the musty air with arrogance and authority.

His expression was smug and reflected in the sure stance he adopted: feet spread apart, weight evenly distributed, bulging biceps seeming even _more_ dangerous with his hands clasping his armored vest.

I fought to retain my composure, willing my uncertain legs to bear my weight a bit longer.

"After meeting the criteria of your requests _and_ ensuring the finished product was suited to your standards over these past weeks, I have a request of my own."

The humility required to _ask_ for anything from this beastly man left my insides churning and a taste of ash on my tongue.

He was silent for a moment before rolling his broad shoulders in what I assumed was a shrug but appeared as more of a threat; his forehead wrinkled with mock confusion before clearing, "Continue, I am interested to hear of your 'request'."

I tightened my jaw, "I require my assistant—She would only create mayhem if left unattended for long. Similarly, there is a member of the gentry—a mutual client we both share—who should not be absent for Gotham's reckoning."

He blinked calmly but made no move to respond. Instead he turned his head to the right, the small motion seeming grotesque as the veins within his neck bulged, "I will send my men—"

I cleared my throat, interrupting him and catching him off guard; despite myself I felt a tingle of fear run up and down my spine, "Merrick won't be a problem; however, Revis lacks even the most basic levels of rationality. If you send your _expendable_ men then at least two will die and many will be injured. I was requesting that you would _personally_ collect Revis; she will not fight you. As for her whereabouts, if the sky is cloudy, she'll be in the woods; no matter the hour or the intensity of the snow, she'll be in the woods."

While I possessed a much _simpler_ device for tracking Revis down I was far from ready to share _that_ power; the GPS within her crow necklace would continue to remain a useful secret.

Moreover, since Bane was involved with the League of Shadows he should have no difficulty hunting down an unstable loon.

Silently, he evaluated me with those soulless eyes, so accustomed to cruelty but also (disorientingly) filled with a cold joviality; he nodded once yet did not turn his gaze away.

Locked in a stare of rapidly increasing intensity, neither one of us looked away until a series of loud footsteps, recognizable as a group of his newly recruited, babbling devotees jerked my attention away.

I merely stepped aside and allowed the squirrelly group of men, eyes disgustingly filled with admiration, to scramble over one another in efforts to speak of Bane. By chance, one of the men glanced toward me then instantly recoiled as though suddenly filled with a frigid chill—

I smirked.

Without giving Bane the faintest gesture of parting, I strode away leaving him to pacify his unruly men.

Yet the moment I was turned away from his platform and well on my way back to the dark cot, I frowned.

Perhaps it was merely caused by damp sewers, absolute seclusion from the above world, and a smudge of familiarity but in the moment the man flinched from my gaze I found myself disappointed…as though I only desired _one_ person to react with such a violent withdrawal.

I cleared my throat once more in the empty tunnels, focusing myself on the quickly nearing events that required _far_ more attention than the reactions a mere assista—

My stomach dropped and my shoulders slumped down in defeat as I viewed my confining cell-like corner of the canals furnished with only a cot, a musty lamp atop a rickety crate, and my two suitcases bearing clothes and chemicals.

Sullenly, I rested against the rough fabric of the cot, biding my time as I did before when I was momentarily imprisoned within my own asylum. Yet despite the pressing importance of my work—which nowadays composed of waiting for Bane to initiate his gargantuan attack on Gotham—I found myself drawn away into a deep contemplation regarding a pale mortician with blue gold eyes.


	71. Chapter 12: Amo Monstrum

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you lovely readers and reviewers for being so supportive throughout the entire story!**

**Oh and I believe I've made a mistake on here o.o I have been writing chapters for Mors Et Timor before I've been posting them. So I have 10 more chapters to update for Mors Et Timor but I'm currently writing the last chapter. I hope that clears things up.**

**Next I would like to once more thank 'PurgatoryNymphe' for her wonderful help in checking over the French used in this chapter and future chapters-thank you! **

**Once more **I**** do not mean any offense to the French people or French language I'm merely poking fun at the stereotype of dramatic French people and as you all will see his actions are an act that he exaggerates. Please do not think that I'm discriminating against a race of people or their language, Merrick is really an interesting character with hidden depths that will be revealed later on.****

**Translations for this chapter are as follows: ****_salope_ = Bitch; _Brûle en enfer. = _Burn in Hell; _**P**__**etite pute, tout est de ta faute!; **_**Little bitch, everything is your fault!****

****There is also lots of Latin in this chapter but it's self-explanatory. ****

****Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!****

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12 Revis POV<strong>

The snow crunched underfoot as I walked through the woods—numb.

There was a certain strength in the numb that consumed my entire being; my mind was sharp, chilled by the wintry air upon my scalp; my legs were strong, uncaring of the long walks; my feet were swift, spurred on by the power of my steel-toe boots; my hands were clothed in thickly lined gloves, mostly healed and ready to undertake whatever task came my way; my head was tall despite the ache of my spine and the persisting bruises along my ribs; my heart...well I barely felt that nowadays.

Yes, numbness was good, it infused me with the will to do what my body could not—and there was a lot my body could no longer do.

What did it sound like to laugh? To truly laugh with unrestrained humor, not bitter retorts or sadistic glee?

What did it look like, a smile? A real smile flourishing with joy, not empty and sinister?

What did it feel like to be normal? To no longer be trapped from within, screaming and screaming for an end to the pain?

Could my pain _ever_ end?

The question made me uncomfortable, a strange stirring from within my hollowed insides, and caused me to instead switch to another train of thought.

_Ambulo_—I walk.

_Ambulat_—She walks.

_Ambulant_—They walk.

_Ambul...Ambul..._

I felt a mild frustration at my inability to recall all the verb tenses of the simple Latin word but decided to move on into nouns.

_Silva_—Forest.

_Arbore_—Tree.

_Numbus_—Cloud.

I frowned once more, unable to recall the word for snow...

_Frigidus_—Cold.

Oh well, that would do.

_Nox_—Darkness.

_Nocte_—Night.

_Villa_—House.

_Horus_—Hour.

_Furitium_—Stealthily.

Oh wait, that was an adjective...

_Baculo_—Club.

_Verberat_—He beats.

_Vir verberat peurum baculum_—The man beats the boy with a club.

_Viri verberant peurum baculum_—The men beat the boy—

Wait, would _baculum_ become _baculi_, a plural for the men—was _baculi_ a real tense?

_Baculo_—a neuter noun.

_Baculis_—the ablative case?

_Bac...Bac..._

Filled with great contempt for my lacking skills, I continued to walk while turning to words I _did_ understand.

_Mors_—Death.

_Morturi_—Will die; dying.

_Corpus_—Body.

_Timor_—Fear.

_Male_—Evil.

_Umbre_—Shade; ghost.

A gust of wind overcame me without warning causing me to stiffen before accepting the chill and allowing it to numb me further as I wandered through the woods.

_Ego erram_—I am wandering.

This was pathetic, after four years of study I could barely string together simple sentences. Then again it had been fifteen years since I had formal instruction and about ten years since I had studied the language on my own.

Although I was not tired I stopped in front of a mighty evergreen, drenched in snow but alluring all the same.

_Vulo ascendere sed nulo cedere_—I want to ascend but I do not want to fall.

I should have learned my lesson...but I couldn't not resist the siren's song of winter.

_Ducit silvae cantae ad mortum_—The forest's song leads to death.

Surely there was no longer any sense in entering the maze of trees and frost; no, there was never any sense to begin with. Sadly, these woods had became just another scar upon my mind...a scar I could not stop reopening.

_Dum dormibant, furgit_—While they slept, she fled.

At least this time I had the sense to _not_ attempt another 'adventure' through the balcony. Not that it would matter if did for perhaps the most aggravating part of the ordeal was the utter _lack_ of concern from Monsieur who holed himself up in his office, howling amid the misery of memories and withdrawal.

_Vita non tantum laeta est_—Life is not equal to happiness.

Before, the plight of Monsieur had me intrigued. Between snatches of his past and the more recent slip-up, I was curious as to his origins. Yet now I couldn't care less, everyone was miserable, everyone was tormented.

_Timere est vitare_—To fear is to live.

I began to climb the tree, unsure if the protective gloves keeping frostbite at bay was worth my slightly impaired grip upon the slick branches.

_Ab amorum sci furgit_—Logic flees from love.

So long he has been absent...

So long I have waited...

And now I must say 'So long' to my bedraggled dreams of love.

Weary and aching, I stopped my ascent noting I was barely twenty feet from the ground. Not that it mattered, there was no sense in expecting him to return my sentiments—or to return at all. Yet I could not break free of my contract in fear that he one day _would_.

Feeling the usual melancholy set in, I shakily laid myself out along the strong bough, feeling content to cuddle with the frozen wood without much care of falling.

_Necebam amorum omnium _—I killed everything I love.

Every bridge was burned, every hope dashed, everyone gone...

It had not mattered when Dr. Crane was here for _nothing_ but Dr. Crane mattered. Yet when he left...I was alone, hollowed by my pain, frozen by my thoughts, and surrounded by the ash of the world I had known.

My nose wrinkled as something cold and wet landed on it; I opened my eyes to the sight of the light snowfall—No it was the ash.

Soon everything would be obscured...

Another flake managed to flutter into the collar of my turtleneck causing me to shudder violently, feeling the cold for the first time.

Suddenly all I could feel was the cold.

Cold hands in frosted leather, cold feet in layers of socks, cold legs clothed in slacks and partially covered by my trench-coat, cold ears bared to the cold air that seared my throat—Cold. Cold. **Cold.**

Cold eyes chilling my cold heart...

Restless, I sat upward to the dismay of my aching back and ribs then began a hurried descent, uncaring if I slid most of the way—I needed to feel the heat again, I needed to feel **alive.**

Yet I was only eight feet in the air, crouched atop a branch while using another just overhead to balance myself, when I heard a crunching of snow behind me.

My mind froze for a split-second before I eagerly turned around, barely poised on the thick branch but uncaring of anything other than the person behind me.

"Dr. Cra—"

My voice died, choked by the wind that pummeled the forest floor with an icy fury and whipped my short hair around yet left the hulking beast in front of me untouched.

Bane.

Before the fierce gust had died his hand shot out to the branch I stood on—

**Snap.**

Sirens of pain lit up my mind as I realized I must have bit my tongue while falling but the inability to breathe soon overcame me.

Uncaring off my spasming body, jarred by the blow to the ground, he stooped over me, efficiently checking me for weapons and confiscating my (thankfully unharmed) glasses case from within my trench-coat's pocket and the sheathed yet wickedly sharp knife I had clipped to my belt.

I struggled to focus despite my panic as I realized he was talking, "—although Dr. Crane _has_ requested your presence."

At last I lay gasping greedily for the air that had been so scarce while scarcely believing his words.

Dr. Crane wanted me!

While tremors wracked my body, I scrambled to my feet trying to ignore the shock of seeing _him_.

"You look worse for wear but we cannot afford to be delayed," he made toward me but I flinched back.

"No," my voice was hoarse and so I cleared my throat while ignoring the burn of the winter air, "I will follow you."

He paused for a moment, inspecting me thoroughly no doubt taking in haunted, sleepless eyes and the long cut along my cheek before giving a slight shrug from within the depths of his sheepskin coat, lined with wool, "If you must..."

Frosted and dazed, I followed him at times having to painfully jog to maintain pace with him.

While I hated him—After all, _he_ was the reason Dr. Crane became distant in the first place—I was overjoyed to soon be reunited with Dr. Crane!

Although there was a slight shadow over my joy...

No matter my excitement I couldn't think of a reason Dr. Crane wouldn't retrieve me himself but instead send _Bane_ to do so. If Bane was in charge, then why would he be sent on such a meager errand?

I glanced at the back of his head studying the mask and what seemed to be two canisters of _something _(batteries maybe?) nestled near the base of his skull. I wasn't so curious as to know _why_ he wore a mask—didn't we all?—but rather I was wondering why he needed all that anesthetic.

Coming to my senses, I noted that I had fallen a bit farther behind than usual but as I jogged closer I found myself with even more questions.

How did he find me? Wouldn't he first check the mansion? Then again I didn't know how he usually entered the manor and I might have been on his journey toward the estate and saved him the extra effort.

I scowled, knowing the answer was as far-fetched as the idea that Bane had been sent to fetch me in person.

I shivered slightly—_No one_ would order him to do anything...Not if they valued their life.

A smile bloomed, warming me from the inside out.

_Dr. Crane_ valued me; he sent for me!

The thoughts brought a rosy blush to my cheeks that could easily be mistaken for the bite of the air that I no longer felt. Even my battered body felt renewed with each step that would bring me closer to—

My head turned sharply to the side as the sounds of a struggle drifted from the right, seeming to travel toward us.

Just around the branches of another evergreen a grey Hummer stood idling, its exhaust filling the air with rancid fumes. Yet once more my attention was drawn to the right where a group of three men pulled a struggling but pathetic Frenchman along. I felt my lips twitch into a smile at the sight of his blotched skin, bruised and bleeding—the bastard deserved it.

Many expletives filled the air but there was a distinct difference between French and English causing me to stare curiously while silently narrating the scene myself.

_Fatuus vir miserissimi lacrimebat sed neque audiunt neque sollicitunt, nemo_—The stupid man cried with the utmost misery but no one heard nor cared.

Blows were exchanged, managing to stun the wild man who was already bound and blinded allowing them to shove him in the car with a respectful nod toward Bane.

Despite my love of the Frenchman's misery I was confused as to _why_ he was needed. His power had dwindled, his connections withered; he was ruined.

The man riding in the passenger seat left the car in order to open the back of the Hummer, revealing a spacious trunk space and then the sight of each seat filled. I expected the man to return to his seat or to place something on the tan tarp in the empty trunk but when he looked at me then to Bane I felt the unpleasant tingle of uneasiness sharpen into pricks of panic.

Bane spoke as though he had just remembered something, I turned my face toward his threatening presence, ripping my eyes from the man who lifted up the tarp, "Dr. Crane _did_ mention a requirement..."

I furrowed my eyebrows just now remembering that it had been three months since he left—that was three months _without_ my 'love potion'—and there was no telling how he was handling the lack of chemical manipulation.

A flash of colour caught my eye causing me to glance over at the man near the trunk—

My eyes widened painfully at the sight of a straightjacket (formerly confused for a tarp) but before I could react Bane spoke once more, "Do not resist...It would not end well for your doctor."

I whipped my head back to the monster that had taken the one person I loved and now threatened to—

I closed my eyes in disbelief before opening them to stare at him in a guilty mix of betrayal and shock. Then again he said it was Dr. Crane who required it which meant I had my cruel doctor already beginning his punishment.

Yet the realization didn't stop the violent flinch which overtook me without warning as the nameless man touched me, already beginning to fit me into the restraints while ignoring my hyperventilation.

However, Bane just watched, supposedly ensuring the straightjacket was secured properly and that I didn't fight back but I saw the flickers of mirth in his eyes made so soulless by that damned mask.

Anxiety and anger; tremors and threats; horror and hatred—there was no end to the contradicting emotions that blazed in my eyes as I held his gaze, my body conformed into a tight embrace by buckles and canvas.

Dr. Crane's requirement or not, I still loathed Bane and once I had my good doctor back, I would begin a plot to give him his due punishment.

When I was properly fitted, I was then ever so generously escorted into the back and manhandled like cargo. Curling into the smallest ball possible I was thankful for the lack of a crotch strap that would have otherwise made escape impossible and wearing my trench-coat extremely uncomfortable.

The moment I was free of this contrapti—

The Hummer shifted, weighed down by the sudden ungainly presence of Bane in the trunkspace...right across from me.

There was a slam of the trunk, a groan from the Monsieur, and another door closing before the Hummer was shifted into gear and began the journey away from the woods and into the unknown.

Suddenly all my plans were forgotten as one last Latin word filled my mind.

_Cacas_—Shit.

...

There wasn't a word for 'straight-jacket' in Latin...but there was a word for hell: _Inferna._

I was in hell yet again, but I was beginning to believe life was hell and each second you sunk deeper and deeper into a pit of torment.

There was the hell of being borne, experiencing life so bright, so cruel, when so young. Next there was the hell of childhood, learning more of the world as innocence began to wither. Thereafter was the hell of adolescence and adulthood, ideas and freedoms only illusions or poor compensations as more burdens weigh down whatever lingering hope might gasp for life. The miseries only grew, partially soothed by moments of fortune but miserable all the same.

My miseries were muted inside the manor, dormant but not deceased and now, waiting in a large room of some once grand government building in the business district of Gotham, they arose from their sedation in order to plague me once more.

I must have fallen asleep in my impossibly uncomfortable position because my first memory was being shaken awake by thugs and lead out of the Hummer (bare of Monsieur I noted) and into a room of enormous proportions, filled with deserted desks, some lights and computers still on, and left with only a pressing look from a smug Bane.

Clearly interpreting the warning, I waited, trying to keep my rising agitation at bay as I awkwardly seated myself in one of the few chairs left standing. Yet as minutes turned to hours and the blood pooled in the crooks of my elbows causing an all too familiar pain, it grew harder and harder to distance myself from my surroundings and to numb the rising fear that no one was coming.

Between faint scuffles and echoes of gruff conversations I knew the room was guarded but I couldn't understand the purpose of placing me in such a large holding space—Or perhaps I wouldn't be the sole occupant of the room for much longer?

It turned out that I was right for soon after my ponderings a disgruntled, bleeding Frenchman was hustled into the room a deposited on the tiled floor with a muffled thump.

The guards barely spared me a glance before leaving the two of us in the room, the thud of the door resounding uneasily in the otherwise silent air.

Monsieur hacked and hacked, coughing violently before finally spitting a glob of bloodied phlegm from his throat. As soon as the obstruction had passed he smiled up at me, the blood from his mouth staining his teeth eerily, "Ha! It," he took a wheezing gasp, "seems that they've finally put you in your place_**—**__** salope**__**."**_

He paused to give into another groaning coughing fit before he fixed me with a look of absolute hatred that had me recoiling, _"Brûle en enfer."_

I furrowed my eyebrows unable to decipher his words yet I could quite easily understand his emotions. In fact, they swept over me with a crushing repetition of blackened rage and building triumph.

"Do…" just as I began to speak his harshly lined face snarled as he struggled to lurch his body closer to mine, only using his shoulders and knees as leverage.

"Monsieur—"

**"NO!"** he yelled, sweaty hair was plastered onto his haggard face but he continued to lurch and grunt, dead set on reaching me.

Frightened at the brazen display of malicious intent, I stumbled out of my seat accidentally knocking the chair onto him as I felt his body brush against my leg.

He roughly shouldered the chair off of his back, uncaring if the metal leg caught the corner of his head scraping skin away and leaving a bloody gash behind.

So intent on escaping his reach I didn't notice a turned over lamp until after my feet tangled in it causing me to fall unable to brace myself as the glass of the desk lamp broke over my dusty slacks.

Seeing that I was brought down to his level, the deranged Frenchman renewed his frenzy and began to approach me, worming his body fervently over splintered plastic, shards of glass, slick piles of paper, any obstacle seemed irrelevant to him.

A small yelp escaped my lips as I struggled to my feet knowing I had the advantage of unbound legs; however, my body was extremely sore and I found even the smallest of movements to sap my strength.

Grunting I stared disbelievingly at the steadily approaching Monsieur, my face pressed uncomfortably into the side of a desk as I attempted to squirm up its surface made slick by my sweat.

"Why—"

An unintelligible bark of rage was his only reply as I whimpered managing to scamper up the desk and then decided sitting atop the higher surface would be safer. The act required more strength than I had so it was no surprise to me when I was halfway onto the desk that I felt Monsieur's teeth dig into my lower leg's clothed calf.

The automatic cry of pain escaped me as the man simply _wouldn't_ let go. Wildly kicking I seemed to only catch the air uselessly as he dug his teeth in harder.

My face flushed as I began to give into angry, useless sobs my kicks weakening as I desperately tried to inch forward on my side yet I felt as though with each shift in my weight my body was being dragged back by the pull of gravity and his teeth.

Gasping I floundered hopelessly, more focused on remaining atop of the desk, even partially than falling to his mercy down below.

Once more flailing my legs, I managed a lucky hit somewhere on his body however his teeth didn't loosen in the slightest, if anything they sunk in deeper.

I let out a fierce scream, more rage than pain but unbearable all the same.

Panting I rested my head against my cramped shoulder, unable to turn onto my stomach or my back in fear that I would lose my uncertain position entirely. I felt the hot sweat run down my face and knew my hair was already drenched. I wouldn't be surprised if my sweat was soaking through the straightjacket either.

What was the use of those damned guards if they wouldn't intervene?

My strength was quickly disappearing and even the most desperate reserves of energy I possessed were already well beyond depleted. Yet still I continued to grunt and wail, kicking out and trying to inch my way up further the desk my only point of concentration being the mocking surface of the desk, damned papers threatening to provide a slippery descent.

And it seemed, by some mild luck, that I had been successful in landing a blow because the pressure in my calf was momentarily relieved before an even greater pain—the absence of that crushing pressure—came to the surface.

No, it didn't matter!

Huffing and yelling out in rage, I shuffled onto the desk fully shaking too hard to completely curl into myself yet I managed to keep my body on the desk without a single inch hanging off.

I gasped for air, more tired than I would have thought yet I reminded myself that the danger hadn't passed but merely lied in wait.

Would he be able to climb up the desk as well? Would we continue in this near comical cycle of injured rats quarrelling restlessly although neither could properly stand?

_**"**__**P**__**etite pute, tout est de ta faute!"**_

I closed my eyes, feeling tears press against my eyelids but refusing to give into the urge to cry. I was stronger than that.

Yet even with all my strength the constant murmur of angry French unnerved me and continued to do so for the many hours it took—his voice rising in intensity and occasionally falling into coughing fits—until someone opened the doors and two men entered the room without giving much thought to our odd choice of positions but instead hefted up Monsieur and dragged him out of the room.

"W-Wait!" I called out, my throat hoarse and my body aching from the strain of my slightly elevated position.

While the two men who carried Monsieur ignored me the one holding open the door nodded in my direction and spoke in a British accent, "He's been taken to court were he'll be sentenced with the rest of the bloody elite—I'm sure you'll be next."

I blinked disbelievingly—None of this seemed like the usual due process expected of Gotham.

"What court?" I asked struggling to lift myself up more as the gruff man scoffed down at me.

"The only one in Gotham since Bane's reckoning—Crane's court."

"Crane—_Dr. Crane_?" I asked my voice cracking slightly as he sneered.

"What's it to you? Yea, he was a doctor I suppose—now he's a judge and soon you'll be dead."

A crooked smile spread across the British man's face lighting up his expression with a dark delight.

"But—"

The man spit on the floor before shaking his head and closing the door, once more playing the part of a useless guard.

Yet as the doors closed I found myself more focused on more important things…like just how had Dr. Crane secured such a vital role in Bane's society—had Bane taken over Gotham?—and why was I being put on trial?

Had he truly planned this? A method to dispose of me?

I was worried that upon my return the now absent influence of my 'love potion' would have him cruel and unforgiving (yet was that much of a change considering his previous behavior?) but surely my actions didn't warrant a _death sentence_?

Exhausted I laid my head back down, deciding to conserve my strength until I would be faced with my doctor. Yet even as I closed my eyes and attempted to calm my thrashing heart the truth was painfully apparent…

_Amo monstrum_—I love a monster.


	72. Chapter 13: Poisoned

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers. I am so, so flattered by everyone and I can't believe how many people are not only enjoying my story but asking questions and critiquing it! Thank you everyone!**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy! **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13 Dr. Crane POV<strong>

The ominous strike of the gavel sounded in the momentarily hushed room as I called out with a grim finality: "Exile!"

And as though by that meager action the room too was struck with a frenzy while a flash of relief could be seen on the defendant's face.

Of course the jury of the corrupted court knew what 'Exile' promised yet their jeers and hollering, like tremulous rolls of thunder, only added to the excitement of the storm that had struck Gotham.

Wordlessly the guards set up around the newly adopted 'courthouse' dragged away the hopeful yet terrified woman.

She was just like all the rest, once the fear of a death sentence was removed they were nearly deflated with relief yet the sentence of 'Exile' had yet to properly sink in, taking root and growing until they were at the mercy of a _new_ fear: the fear of life—or perhaps more accurately, life outside of Gotham's wealthy cradle.

Yet their proud little minds were convinced that life, life anywhere, was better than death. Their pride made them stupid, naïve. For so long they believed that life amid luxury was a sort of entitlement.

And they were wrong.

If they had died they would have been spared the agony and misery of surviving without more than the clothes on their backs and the stares of heartless strangers. However, they would never get that far—or rather they would only go as far as they could swim.

They were so blind, so deaf, to the obvious truth. If they had chosen death they would have at least been able to boast a lovely corpse—that is if it was ever dragged up from the depths of Gotham's bay.

Apparently Bane's announcement of _no one_ leaving Gotham seemed to not apply to the wealthy for no one doubted the option of leaving while everyone stayed amidst the chaos. After all, they were already used to buying things not for sell.

Now Gotham was under new rule and even in such a lofty position as Judge, I was not apart from the strain the city suffered.

While shortages had yet to arise I knew by watching the careless squandering of the recently 'liberated' that such easy times would not last. The bomb was set to detonate roughly five months from now and whatever 'freedom' Bane promised would quickly be lost as Gotham was obliterated from the map.

There were five months until everything would be lost. Five months of waiting and feeling the oppressive presence of Bane's promise looming in the already menacing air of Gotham. Only five months of life left—Unless someone was able to stop him.

Batman had made an unexpected reappearance while Revis was safe in Merrick's mansion and I was guarded in Bane's sewers. The news crews ate up the new turmoil that the masked vigilante of Gotham created and seemed eager for more.

However hidden I was from Batman, I knew that one did not leave eight years of retirement without significant cause.

I grimaced, remembering my first encounter with the flying rat of Gotham—

_My feet pounded on the concrete below me as I ran through the wet alleyways of Gotham, throwing small gas explosives at my pursuers. _

_ I felt alive—fear singing in my veins as a dark shadow flew overhead._

_ It was __**him.**_

Yet the sight of another defendant, an overweight man in his late forties, kept the troubling thoughts at bay. Barely paying attention to the words I was reading, I called out the man's name and previous position in Gotham as my internal thoughts continued.

Gotham didn't need Batman anymore and if by some chance the neurotic 'hero' decided to drop by he would be useless. Batman was only a faded symbol of hope, a corrupt hero, and nothing would change that. No matter the years he spent working for the good of society, in one fall he lost everything.

No, Gotham would not be saved by its lost hero but rather I would survive by my own cunning.

After all, what better role could I ask for with hopes of overthrowing Bane than that of his personal chemist? There was no need for flashy battles, hidden gadgets, or brute strength when the slightest err in the anesthetics I supplied would have the great masked mercenary in unbearable pain or perhaps eternal slumber.

Boredly I asked the usual question of 'Death or Exile?' while far more important matters brewed inside my head.

My actions would have to be subtle, concealed—No one could suspect that I was more than a random choice for a Judge of Bane's court and if anyone, even _Batman_, interfered with my plans—

My eyes bore into the defendant's seeing panicked eyes belonging not to a CEO of some enterprise but a large man who wore a mask to salvage what remained of his mind.

I raised the gavel once more before striking it, "Exile!"

As the courtroom again erupted in furious shouts I stared down at the mindless mob feeling as though I was seated in a throne watching as the enemy tore itself apart.

Yes, they would all be torn apart by **fear**.

Every.

Last.

One.

…

The days stretched on, the rioting in the streets continued and the seemingly endless stream of defendants flooded my courtroom.

It wasn't long before the daily task of sentencing grew more and more tedious as each face seemed to blur into a kaleidoscope of raw emotions—anger, loss, dread, shock, desperation, **fear**.

The lofty power of Judge was enticing at first. Despite knowing the truth of my position, knowing it was only a pacifying reward used to maintain my obedience, I enjoyed it.

Staring into the terrified yet disbelieving eyes of the defendant, watching their panic rise nearly uncontrollable in its intensity—all of it was _soothing_ in a way.

Of course the whole process grew dull after the initial hours dwindled by leaving my voice hoarse from strain and my mind bored with the almost repetitious cycle of the wealthy.

Yet the power presented to me was undeniable.

Peering down from my high, throne like seat, surrounded by long rolls of paper bearing the name and occupation of the newest victim, I felt imbued with a rightful superiority. Now, after years of mockery and disdain, I was able to stare into the pleading eyes of every citizen that had ever thought ill of me.

_"Deranged Doctor" —_ _"Psychotic Psychiatrist" —_ _"Insidious Inmate"_

Oh it was all too easy to laugh and brush off my achievements when the tabloid's spread their slanted 'news'. Apart from those struck with tearful disbelief, my former coworkers had laughed too…until _I_ reminded everyone that I was not a sour _joke_ to amuse them but a terrifying _threat_.

For some the role reversal was comical and nearly impossible to overcome—especially for the patients within the asylum. Once word had spread that a former _doctor_ had been committed the inmates were beside themselves with the hilarity of the situation. However, I did not approve of the irony—I was not _insane_ as they were.

The only victory Revis won was to momentarily remove me from her life and distance me from my work. She believed that without my compounds and my mask that I was useless…and oh how wrong she was.

Did she not think of the _years_ of my study I had undertaken? Did she believe that my extensive knowledge of psychology and psychopharmacology were used only to earn myself a fancy title?

In order to earn my position I worked tirelessly on case after case, properly counseling and medicating those who were sent to me while silently accumulating my own data in my true area of study: fear.

While considerably young in my field I had surpassed all expectations of my success and quickly gained the confidence of my superiors. Climbing the social ladder of Arkham with a veiled game of manners and protocol, I earned more than my share of privileges.

Of course such actions did not go unnoticed…

Not without great disdain I reflected on my secretary who had also attended a Christmas function in Arkham. The basis of our meeting was purely kismet; however, to this day I still suspected the amount of drinks consumed was a bit more calculated.

After our intoxicated tryst I gained an unwelcome admirer who continued to pursue me obviously following some sexual script in which the meek secretary and the powerful psychiatrist (or some variation) experienced a semi-forbidden relationship. Without doubt she probably expected heated meetings after hours in my office, shy glances exchanged in the staff longue while pouring coffee, sensual caresses in between passing papers and folders, and eventually after the months of fancy dinners and weekend dates there would be a consensual decision to move in together and then a year or two later we would be 'happily married' and she would be finically secure.

However, as she soon found out, the script was flawed.

Her nauseating efforts to further entice me were met with an icy reception and the only contact between us consisted of one-sided chatter as she informed me of my recent agenda and if I was feeling generous I would return her words with a curt response.

The aspect of repeating our one night of drunken interest did not appeal to me in the slightest. Apart from two stumbling attempts at college courtship—on _their_ part at least—I had little experience in terms of romance and I intended to maintain my voluntary celibacy. The women around me could offer nothing and I found no reason to lower my personal standards to conform to society's expectations.

Yet my former secretary was perhaps the most foolish of those who were taken aback by my sudden incarceration.

I could still picture her brown eyes darken with anguish as she stuffed down her tearful sentiments regretting not just my fall from prestige but the loss of her chance to cling to that prestige as though it were _important_.

I did not care for the loss of my title, my home—Although at first I _did_ care. I had seethed in my cell tearing Revis to shreds with my mind but then I saw a new _freedom_ in my condition.

No matter the 'official' sentence and my revoked license, my former coworkers continued to treat me with a respect now only marred by tightlipped reminders that they 'shouldn't' act as they did, that they 'shouldn't' confide in me, that they 'shouldn't' ask my opinion on a particular case—Yet they did.

It seemed as though with my incarceration little had changed but my uniform and schedule for now I was always on 'duty' and apart from the degrading remarks made by security and inmates alike I was still addressed as 'Doctor' and sought out for my expertise. Even old patients of mine approached me in regards to their medicine hoping to seek relief from the faulty prescriptions of lesser doctors.

Then my own 'therapy' sessions were a complete farce. Once the meager attempts of analyzing me failed, the uncertain doctor began to resort to other methods in a sad effort to bridge the gap between our levels of intelligence.

Of course none of them stood a chance against my cunning and with each smooth word and 'understanding' nod I gained their confidence until even the righteous Dr. Shaw asked in a conflicted state why I was imprisoned.

It seemed almost inconceivable that I had ever conducted illegal, unethical experiments on Arkham patients and the more I played the part of the well-meaning psychiatrist the more they began to doubt my guilt and invite me into their minds. At one point an investigation of my imprisonment was conducted as a group of staff believed I had been framed; however, under the Dent act I was denied parole.

However, I oversaw my own parole, an unorthodox reevaluation conducted over weeks and weeks of time for once I gained leverage amidst their petty social order, I was able to wreak havoc without even raising my voice outside my cell.

"Exile!" I called out for the umpteenth time.

Yes, they were all exiled—left robbed and without control.

Once more focusing in on my surroundings I watched as the newest defendant was dragged to the hot seat—One wealthy Monsieur Merrick.

He was run ragged, his growing addiction to Thrill had left him wasted. Stringy strands of blonde hair fell into his face barely masking the sunken skin below. Even his crooked nose seemed more grotesque with the decay of his body.

Yes, it was obvious in the very manner in which he _breathed_ that he was ruined—

Yet for some inexplicable reason upon focusing his bloodshot eyes on my face his sunken face split into a wide, yellowed smile.

"Monsieur Merrick, the wealthy businessman in all manner of trade—illict as well—You have been found guilty of—"

A hollowed, hacking laughter shook his body growing louder until I was forced to pause.

"N-" his first attempt to speak failed forcing him into a strong coughing fit before he could breathe again, "No my _Doctor_, it is _you_ that is guilty—" he paused for a pained wheezing breath, his hand bracing his ribs as though he was forced to hold himself together, "You—You've ruined everything!"

His voice rose causing the courtroom to fall into a hush—No one had ever spoken out before.

Begged? Prayed? Yes. But they have not thrown accusations back into my face.

Rushing forward, Merrick fell to his knobby knees creating a distinct **crack** against the tiled floor, "YOU **RUINED **HIM!"

Choked sobs spilled forth as the slobbering Frenchman continued, "I-I loved my brother Stephen…He did not deserve to suffer but no one seemed to understand. Then_ Leonie_," he spat her name as though it had a vile taste in his mouth, "that _whore_ betrayed us! Betrayed Stephen! By sleeping with a doctor she managed to send our poor brother to the 'best treatment available' in _your_ asylum!"

He seemed to collapse into himself, exhausted by his outburst.

"If you're quite finished—" I began to speak, my bored tone concealing my growing interest and confusion.

However once more that dark and deranged laughter shook his battered body, "Finished?" he asked before rising his head, green eyes seemingly deadened by his suffering.

"No…It is _you_ that is finished. You tortured my poor Stephen with your potions—No one would believe him but I knew—I KNEW!"

A particularly fierce coughing fit forced him to pause but just as I struck the gavel against its wooden block while barking commands in order to quiet the sudden uproar of the jury, he continued.

"It was then," he panted, "_then_ I began to ascend into power readying myself to save him—but that DAMNED woman killed him—Your assistant, **REVIS!**"

A wave of recognition washed over me—The mad 'hair-stylist'. True to his word I experimented on the nutter however his increasingly difficult behavior began to impede progress as other doctors were called in for a 'second opinion'. From that day onward I ceased all _chemical_ experimentation.

"But now…" his ragged appearance contorted with a manic glee, "But now, I've extracted my revenge! You-You've been destroyed!"

I scoffed my eyes narrowing, "Am I truly destroyed?"

Once more I was met with a sickening smile, "Finally your poison has infected you as well; you and your assistant will tear each other apart—You're destroyed! Destroyed at last!"

**Bang. Bang.**

"Order! Order!"

I rested the gavel against the wood as I leaned forward, "Monsieur Merrick, I sentence you to Death!"

**Bang.**

As the last thud of the gavel echoed throughout the courtroom, Merrick was dragged away—However, he did not cease his gibberish.

"Leonie, Leonie! She was the same as Revis—" he struggled against the hold of his escorts, "lusting for a doctor, seeking relief in his cynical arms even after he _used_ her—And it got her killed!"

His breath left him as one of the men struck him in his stomach yet his gasping breaths once more morphed into a sinister laugh, "Dead! Dead! Just like she deserves!"

The crowd did not erupt into its usual cheer as many were curious by his wracking laughter, "And soon Revis will be too—You'll poison each other until you are both destroyed and I have suc-succeeded!"

Not without difficulty he fought to even out his breathing but it was a useless endeavor: he would not be breathing for much longer. And so I watched coldly as he was dragged out of sight.

Turning my head to the man on my right, one of Bane's men, I whispered, "Bring _her_ in."

The man glared at me as though I was filth before giving me a gruff nod and motioning to a man waiting on the other side of the large courtroom.

My eyes scanned the room once more when Bane's observant face caught my eye. I refused to look away—to acknowledge the faint chill that crept along my back—but the growing scuffle at the entrance of the tiled hall pulled my attention away.

Revis.

I drank in the sight of my 'assistant' noting her exhausted, disheveled appearance—Hair long, the longest layer almost to her collarbone and drenched in sweat; steps stumbling, _limping_ almost, as she tried to keep up with the pace of her 'escorts'; body bound in an equally stained straight-jacket—

At first its strange yet rewarding appearance puzzled me; however, her past wasn't hidden in the least but rather plastered all over the GCPD's bulletin boards. In hindsight I had hoped her instability would catch Bane off guard yet it seemed he was well prepared regardless.

Nevermind the failure of my childish jab, I was far more interested in reflecting on the humor of the situation.

Once more I was perched atop my throne and _Revis_, the lunatic mortician, was brought before me groveling in her bindings, helpless to control her fate.

"Nicole Revis, former mortician of Gotham's Funeral Parlor, escaped patient of Arkham Asylum, conspirer against Gotham, you have been charged—"

"Eh, she's one of us!" an unruly jury member yelled and his words were received with few small cheers and a greater amount of dissent.

"Who cares? Let the crazy bitch die!"

"Yeah!"

Curious I turned my attention to Revis' bowed head. Since she had entered the courtroom she didn't once lift her head.

It had been _months_ since she's seen me and she didn't even bother to _look_ at me?

**Bang. Bang.**

"Order! Order!"

Laying the gavel aside, I stared over the courtroom chilling the crowd into a subdued chatter that then lessened to a rumbling murmur.

"_Ms._ Revis, you are found guilty of—"

She looked up.

I froze unable to speak after seeing her eyes—Eyes that I had _been_ seeing in my mind for weeks.

I cleared my throat, hoping my already hoarse voice would account for my pause but when I felt Bane's stare boring heavily into my head, I knew I was in danger of exposing some minor point of vulnerability.

"You have been found guilty of numerous counts of larceny, deceit, torture, and execution against the people of Gotham—"

My voice once more died into a rasp yet I was not going to humiliate myself further.

**Bang.**

"Court postponed!" I shouted as well as I could.

The jury seemed restless, as though after being denied their cheers of bloodlust they had no purpose. Yet they began to exit out of their own accord leaving a small crowd that only continued to diminish until even Bane's pressing stare faded from the room.

Turning from his absent gaze I instead sought Revis' knowing those blue gold eyes had never left mine.

Unable to speak we merely stared—It was then that I wondered…

Were we truly poisoned?


	73. Chapter 14: Pike

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you lovely readers and reviewers. Your support astounds me and keeps me motivated! Thank you!**

**On a side note this chapter was greatly inspired by the song "Murder" from 'Within Temptation', it helped with writing immensely!**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 14 Revis POV<strong>

I stared out at a sea of faces, some sneering and others distracted. So this was the jury of Gotham's infamous 'court'?

I glanced at the 'judge' of this farce and saw him struggling to find the proper visage to adopt: detached and mocking or disgusted and bitter? Or maybe he really felt all of those emotions and couldn't decide which would be the least insulting.

Let's see, detachment for the fate of others, mocking for his high role in Bane's society compared to his lowly role before, disgusted at the filth he worked with daily, and bitter due to the _truth_ of Bane's 'liberations'.

Or maybe he was just cold and hungry like the rest of us...

I would have sighed but the effort to even open my mouth wouldn't be worth the sudden invasion of cold air. The courtroom was _freezing_ and despite my love of winter there wasn't nearly enough snow to balance the temperature.

Vaguely I remembered my mother's chiding remarks about making appropriate choices for the weather (clearly hinting that my trench coat was _not_ an option) but I found myself bristling at the memory.

I didn't want to remember the past...besides, it was at least warmer atop the mountain of desks...or would it be warmer down there with a large crowd expelling blessed heat?

"—present for you," a puff of white air caught my attention causing me to tune into reality and listen to Dr. Crane who had apparently been talking for quite some time with his voice hoarse from shouting all day.

I shifted closer to him despite the lash of his glare—Oh that's right while I sat beside him I wasn't allowed to seem too attached lest it spoil his 'image'.

"Revis?"

A hand clamped down on my chilled shoulder causing me to jump while realizing that I must have rolled my eyes without realizing it.

Although I had suffered the years with Dr. Crane I hadn't yet figured out what his current attitude toward me was and in result what my attitude toward him should be.

I was overjoyed to return to him...until I was kept in a holding room until my trial and then when I _did_ meet with him once more in person he only left me in confusion.

The moment our eyes met his face seemed uncharacteristically _open_ causing him to quickly cover up and 'postpone' the court. After that I was left to rot in an office of some stocker who had apparently lived in the stock exchange building.

Occasionally I'd see him in the passing, haggard and obviously sleep deprived, but I hadn't understood this separation. Did Bane think he was too much of a threat if left idle? Did he fear an uprising from our partnership? Or did he simply need a chemist at hand and figured a lofty role such as a judge would intrigue him? Which would mean I was simply the 'pet' brought along to keep a whiny child happy.

And yet I loved that whiny child...

I didn't believe it was possible and even when I was proved wrong I didn't believe it would last. I had thought he would have killed me off or left me in the ruins of my own mind but instead he fought with himself to keep me by his side. Sure I was useful but didn't my acts of rebellion and impulsive behavior ruin whatever chance I had to _truly_ assist him?

Now what was anything supposed to mean?

And in all honesty, I needed him to have that boost. _Months_ without my 'love potion' seemed to hardly affect him in times of struggle like we now faced.

Then again, what was the point in wondering about this at all? I was in the courtroom beside my love, overseeing those who had once held their stuffy noses up at the rest of us and now were condemned to either 'death or exile'.

Despite my growing resolution I chuckled as I remembered my actions toward Monsieur before he even left to his sentencing. I had assisted in his demise, wearing him raw with withdrawal from Thrill so shouldn't I be given a nameplate of 'Death' for my effor—

A frown cut the thought off sharply as my sullied mood soon overcame me.

I wasn't _Death_, the very idea was ridiculous—

"**Revis...**"

Just then realizing Dr. Crane was still touching me and waiting for my reply I met his eyes relieved my cheeks were too leeched of warmth to even blush.

Although I knew I should apologize my lips would not move.

Suddenly a rebellious streak of self-worth and dignity arose.

I didn't _want_ to apologize.

Why should be the forever humbled assistant? I was tired of ducking my head in shame, feeling my cheeks burn with humiliation, and whispering shaky acquiesces. I wanted to for _once_ meet his gaze without flinching and speak to him as an _equal_.

Sure I had my moments of rebellion in which I bantered back at him but those were too few and far in between, it was time I took a stand.

"Yes, Dr. Crane?" I replied a cruel edge of pride curling around the consonants of my words.

Even through the cold and the growling of his stomach he caught the emerging change instantly yet chose to not yet address it in favor of snapping at me, "Pay attention."

I let out a light scoff and turned my head to the rest of the courtroom intrigued that no one seemed to notice our conversation, they were all too busy taunting those about to die—

Well, all except Bane.

I met his eyes without any sort of purpose but at the same time I could not look away. The staring contest was driving me insane and despite the lack of proximity I couldn't help but feel threatened. Although he rarely spoke his emotions were far more expressive and right now I couldn't so much as decipher them but instead _knew_ I was in danger.

The banging of a gavel broke me out of the spell as I turned my attention to Dr. Crane who was reading off a seemingly neverending list of names, "Bring forth Mrs. Kendall, wife of Mr. Kendall, the vice president of Wayne Chemicals specifically its pharmaceuticals branch."

I watched as my curiosity grew.

I was brought into the courtroom not even 20 minutes ago by some thugs and since then it seemed the court day was coming to an end, I hadn't thought I'd be there to witness more screaming and pleading by the 'guilty'.

Yet the woman who was brought forth was indistinguishable from the rest. Frazzled dyed blonde hair accented by a once beautiful blouse made of silk but now worn by sweat and overuse, she was nothing special.

Tracks of mascara dripped down her face as she shook her head, vainly pulling away from the friendly 'escorts', "P-Please, _please,_ I-I haven't done anything wrong! It's my husband you want, take him instead!"

Hmph she was probably a trophy wife of some sort and it seemed her husband's poor choice in a partner were quickly becoming evident. I wonder how many nights she whispered sweet nothings into his ear only to fake pleasure and happiness for the reward of money?

"Your guilt has already been determined, this is a sentencing hearing. Now Mrs. Kendall, formerly known as Isabella Thompson—"

My head snapped so quickly to look at him disbelievingly my neck cracked, a sly smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he glanced at me before continuing, "You have been found guilty of countless acts of greed, fraud —"

"Fraud?" her voice cracked miserably as she _actually _looked confused.

That FUCKING **LIAR!**

Already I could feel my shoulders stretch back as I partially lunged forward, my eyes burning holes into her head as I focused all my hate onto the quivering form of the **T****ramp**.

A growl rose in my throat but Dr. Crane continued, "Yes, _fraud_. Now what will it be, exi—"

Before I could even comprehend my actions, my hand whipped out and tore the gavel from his hands as I slammed it down on the desk uncaring if I even met the wooden block, "DEATH!"

A slight murmur arose instead of the normal deafening cheering but I was only focused on her startled face. In a more restrained manner I called out, "Death by pike."

Those who understood either smiled in glee or winced while others looked on in confusion as the rest of the courtroom grew steadily quieter. Even the guards were unsure of what to do next.

It was only when I felt a cold hand atop mine that I slightly turned my head toward Dr. Crane, too unwilling to look away from my victory, "If I may..."

His hot breath hit my ear freezing it further as the cold air sought to chill everything in the room, almost instantly I withdrew my hand allowing him to bang the gavel properly and rasp, "Court dismissed!"

Without the slightest urging from him I leapt over the desk and slid down the mountain of desks, occasionally jumping when needed. The moment I reached the bottom I felt as though I was possessed by this building _hate_ within me and the newer emergence of a devilish sadism that reflected itself in new ways I hadn't even thought possible.

From the sly step in my stride to the growl building in my throat I felt like a beast unchained...and hungry for bloodshed.

"Isabella Thompson..." I spoke slowly, **darkly**, "'_Hero'_ of Gotham, an idol to all who suffer—A FRAUD!"

If any member of the jury had thought of leaving there was no evidence of it.

Suddenly one member of the jury yelled out causing me to instinctively lurch toward them, teeth bared and snarling—completely territorial, completely _animalistic_.

My behavior startled many, after all before this I was just the strange woman brought to court in a straightjacket and left without sentencing only to reappear beside the judge.

But I didn't care...I had my prey and _no one_ would take that away from me.

Turning away from the crowd I returned to my victim noting with glee she was terrified.

"R-Revis?" she asked, her voice squeaking.

I stalked toward her, enjoying every flicker of emotion that flashed across her face as she realized she had no escape and no one would save her: she was trapped.

"Oh? Does it surprise you, _**T**__**ramp**_, to know that I've been waiting for you? Or did you think you'd be safe? Hidden away in the lap of luxury, _smiling_ with all your **false** innocence?"

I stood before her.

She shook her head sobbing, "I-I didn't mean to, I'm _so_ sorry!" she shakily took off her pearl necklace that had been hiding beneath her blouse, "T-Take this, take anything you want, just _please_ let me go!"

Something within me snapped for without any recollection my hand was already flying through the air backhanding the necklace out of her grip as I lunged forward, caging her into the once grand chair.

Distantly I heard the necklace crack against the tiled floor, spreading tiny orbs of wealth throughout the area but no one dared move.

I panted above her, smiling acidicly, "You wrote a book, didn't you _Isabella_," I sounded out her name mockingly, "In that book you detailed the events of that night as _you_ saw fit. After all, the only person who could challenge you was a hunted criminal...but I believe it's time you retell the story, _correctly_ mind you, and pay the penance for your statement...

" 'Defying Death'—How quaint...and only fitting for the _**greed**_evident in a graverobber. Your entire life was spent carving out wealth from those who had succumbed to their fate. You picked at the bones of the regal parsons you now feast with. But I believe it's only fair to offer yourself up to the crows, they've been so starved of food lately with all the bodies going to the fishes," I laughed darkly, "Won't you repent for your sins, Isabella?"

"Those aren't sins!" she called out bravely causing me to lean back, "_Y-You're_ a murderer, a sadist! You deserve to burn in hell!"

I scoffed, "Not sins against _God_, Isabella—Sins against **Death**."

She scrunched up her face in disgust, "Oh, did you think yourself to be a devout angel?" I grabbed her face as I crouched beside her, "In that case, I'll enjoy ripping away your wings."

Whatever rebellion that had risen in her eyes died instantly.

I stood and looked to Bane who watched the scene silently, "I'll need a pike."

"I'm pregnant!"

I turned my head sharply to view the sobbing woman beside me as she continued, "I-I'm with a child, please just wait till he's borne then you can kill me. Don't h-harm my baby..."

My blackened anger only magnified at her words as I replied coldly, "Then I suppose you'll both die for your sins."

She gasped, tears falling freely as she wailed to the heavens, "Oh God! Oh God please!"

The crowds shifted uneasily and some grew bored with the scene and began to leave while others broke their formation to dart out and loot the remains of the necklace but I was only concerned for my reward.

She didn't believe she deserved punishment but it didn't matter for her Judgment Day had already arrived.

...

Everything felt so surreal...

It had been _years_ that I'd dreamt of this day. Eight long years and finally I had succeeded. Fate had brought us together before, about five years ago in the Lux Atlantic. She was so close...and she didn't even know that her Death was near.

Yet no matter my desire the circumstances were not right. Although Dr. Crane and I would eventually be at the mercy of the late Monsieur I had sought to protect us from his influence. My revenge had been smothered under the pressing weight of pacifying Dr. Crane and soon, almost unconsciously, I had resigned myself to the probability that she would remain a survivor, a mockery of my delusion.

My delusion...

I felt at war with myself for if my delusion was false was my revenge equally void?

**NO!**

The force of my conviction shook me slightly causing me to falter in my strong strides yet the group following Bane did not notice allowing me to once more enter my thoughts.

She **disgraced **me, flaunted **LIES** every chance she had as though she was untouchable.

Originally her crimes violated the rights of the deceased, any court (oh, the irony!) would have found her guilty; however, I took justice into my own hands.

Now we were both cursed...

Yet did her guilt validate my delusion? Was I fulfilling a personal revenge of my disgraced reputation or the noble inclinations of Death?

Suddenly the party came to a stop on the icy shores of Gotham and as if the destination of so many 'exiled' Gothamites made the situation so much more real, the _filthy _**Tramp** began pleading anew.

"Please, _Please_ have mercy! It was ten years ago, I was a child!"

Ignoring her petty begging, I turned to face Bane my eyes cold, "I'll need a pike."

The **Tramp** wailed in dismay, slumping against the guard's hold.

Yet I watched solemnly as Bane broke off the end of a seven foot fencepost as if he were simply plucking a flower. Despite myself I shivered at the display of strength but also for the delight that my vengeance would finally be complete.

Choosing a frozen hill which had once been used by bored militiamen who enjoyed gambling on the time each 'defendant' would have before dying, Bane motioned with his head for a few men to assist him.

What followed next disgusted many people even caused a few to vomit but I watched eagerly licking up every detail with glee.

First the struggling tramp was held down as her pants were torn off, earning a few hoots and hollers yet before anything else progressed I called out, "She'll be impaled anally, I want clean access to her intestines," turning my head to Bane I warily made a request, "Gently, if possible, use the blunt portion of the pike to push aside her organs instead of slicing through them—It'll prolong her suffering."

While I wished to partake in the actual impalement myself, I knew I lacked the strength necessary and so I allowed the others to carry out the deed under my careful eye.

She began screaming the moment the icy metal touched her skin but the torture had hardly begun.

Louder and louder she shrieked as her flesh tore in order to accommodate the thick pole.

At first her screams drew some wandering bystanders closer, but it repelled many more, even one of the workers whose job was to hold the pole steady abruptly lunged away and relieved his stomach before stumbling away. His place wasn't taken but the impalement proceeded as planned.

Once a sufficient length was inside her, Bane began striking the end so as to hammer it through her body. Traditionally this was done with a metal mallet but obviously that wasn't needed.

Smiling faintly I took in the sight of the tramp's flushed skin, tendons straining grotesquely, as she screamed and screamed and **screamed.**

Knowing the pike would soon enter through her mouth I strode toward her, fingers twitching in anticipation as I pulled her dyed hair roughly, forcing her head to slide back and aline with the choking shaft forcing its way up her esophagus. Each strike to the end of the fencepost pushed the metal further and further until the metal showed through her gagging throat and wet squelching noises filled the air.

Nastily pulling her hair once more, I backed away and nodded to Bane who then righted the pike and thrust it into the frozen ground with ease.

A muted screeching filled the air as the tramp began to slide down the thick fencepost under gravity's dragging claws, her bound arms spasming uselessly in an attempt to either balance herself or stop the slow, frigid process.

In fact, the air was so cold I was amazed her skin didn't tear further as the heat of her bodily fluids froze upon coming in contact with the metal then was ripped open anew with her weight pulling her down.

Eventually she came to a stop yet continued to writhe in burning agony, afflicted by a million new sensations of pain that she had not yet be introduced to until this very night.

I paused only to speak with Bane briefly, "Thank you...I am in your debt."

He viewed me with those unreadable eyes before replying in his cultured tone, "Of course! You may assist Crane within the courtroom. I believe the verdict 'exile' is self-explanatory yet its brother 'death' is lacking."

A pang of unease shot through me—

Would I be acting as Death again?

I cleared my throat, "Y-Yes, of course..."

He waited a moment longer, drinking in my reaction with knowing eyes—yet knowing of what?—before nodding in satisfaction and turning around presumably off to further his goals.

A slight crowd of men were left, some drawn back once the more brutal displays were gone while others left thinking she would die soon—and oh how wrong they were!

Pushing the masked mercenary from my mind, I strolled toward the pathetic afflicted form of my surviving victim.

Triumph singing in my veins, I addressed her directly, "Now _T__ramp_, I believe it's time to address a few misconceptions between us...We've avoided this conversation for soo long, I had thought I would never have the opportunity to finish conducting my punishment," mockingly I stroked her stretched cheek, "It's alright if you want some time to reflect on your misdeeds and collect your thoughts. I estimate you'll live for less than 24 hours. So I'll make our time count."

As my voice carried over the remaining men I heard one of them curse and stalk off muttering nonsense.

My eyes narrowed as I gave a sidelong glare to the onlookers, "You're welcome to stay as well, _Isabella~_ here has a story to tell—or should I say, _retell_—and I'm sure you'd be _most_ interested in it."

A few caught on to my tone and made their hasty exit but most of them remained either from Bane's orders (did I miss some sort of exchange or signal between them?) or their own curiosity.

Turning my attention back to the _T__ramp_, I leaned forward and rubbed her quivering shoulders soothingly, "Oh and one more thing..."

I reached for the wickedly sharp knife I kept sheathed at my hip, another unexpected gift from the late Monsieur. Avidly drinking in every flicker of strained emotion, tremble of terror, and piercing shriek of pain...I drew my knife to her skin in order to carve repentance from her body.


	74. Chapter 15: Redemption

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you lovely readers and reviewers for your support and feedback. I'm not sure if this chapter is particularly bad considering the graphic content of the last chapter but it is a continuation so...beware? **

**Oh and here's a 'translation' of the first line which seems to be the only line people had trouble reading:**

**"That night I made a terrible, _terrible_ mistake. I thought...I thought that I could cha-challenge death and-Ahh!"**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 15<strong>

"hat nigh I ma-e a –errible…_-errible_ m-mista**k**e. I 'hought….I 'hought 'hat I 'ould 'a-'allen-e 'eath an'—Ahh!"

I smiled cruelly as I dragged the blade along her arm, allowing her trapped blood to rise to the surface and wash her skin anew; her pain and bitter cold only assisted me in my efforts to purge her.

"Did I tell you to stop?" I asked, increasing the pressure of the knife so as to cut her deeper.

"Ah-Ahhh!—No!" she hollered sobbing pitifully.

Indeed she was pathetic…but she did not deserve mercy.

"Continue—" I hissed.

Her lips trembled, well trembled as much as was possible considering the thick rod of metal protruding from her mouth. Broken sobs caught in her throat as she attempted to speak.

"I a-am so sorry—I 'in't know wha' I was 'oing—"

A high pitched whine escaped her as I abruptly stabbed her bound hand, creating more petal like lacerations across the abused skin.

"N-Ne—uh, I knew wha' I was 'oing. I knew it."

More saliva drained from her gaping mouth, joining the sweat that slickened her throat and stained her bloodied and frayed blouse.

"_Why_ did you do it, Isabella~"

Her brows crumpled in pain as she hurriedly blinked her eyes—thinking of ways to **lie.**

My hand struck her head before I had registered that it had moved; however, I was conscious of the second and third blow.

A terrible howl escaped her as the trauma to her head was intensified; teeth that were previously whitened and straight were now chipped and bloodied. Even a faint bruise was beginning to form among the others lining her face: a palette of blood and misery which I would artfully use to complete my classic painting of **revenge.**

"_WHY_ did you lie to me, Isabella? Did you think I would tolerate lying?"

"N-Nngh—"

How sweet…she thought that strangled begging would help her now.

She was wrong of course—Begging would only entice me to _further_ exploit her.

"Perhaps I've been going about this all wrong…" I spoke slowly, hoping to lure her into a sense of security.

Her eyes fixed me with a panicked confusion yet I saw the flicker of **hope** burning deep within.

How disgusting...The lowly **Tramp** believed that even _now_ she was worthy of redemption.

"Perhaps I should explain exactly how deserving you are of your punishment—"

The light in her eyes died and I lashed out toward her without realizing I had moved, "HEY! Listen to me!"

I flinched back as blood splattered my face—Where did I cut? How did I lash out without realizing what I was doing?

A hot flash of panic washed over me as I feared I had killed her.

No! I needed this! She needed to be punished! I needed to understand…

There was so much I didn't understand.

Her.

Myself.

Death.

Yet I found myself unable to move, blood dripped down my face, running slowly along my neck; it was in my eyelashes, my hair, but I couldn't even blink.

Had…Had I killed her?

A deep outrage overcame me, causing my body to jerk suddenly before returning to its paralysis.

If she was dead she couldn't ever tell me why all of this happened…

Why did she come into _my_ funeral parlor?

Why did my Boss decide to have _me_ interview her?

Why did everyone leave _me_ to deal with her?

Why did _I_ deserve this?

It was all **her** fault. My Boss and the filthy **tramp** both pushed me to fall into a delusion of Death.

The delusion that destroyed my life…

I was so stupid—destroying all my records, deciding to take matters into my own hands, thinking I could make a difference.

Was I envious of Death? The promise of eternal rest that I lusted for, over and over, for years upon years, without even the slightest taste?

Or was it the power of Death that I coveted?

_Death_ made a difference; Death mattered. Death had the final say in everyone's life.

Death was infamous, immortal whereas I was…

Who was I?

Before all of this who or _what _was—

**Victim.**

The word burned itself in front of my glazed over vision. Tears formed in my eyes—probably from the strain of keeping them open without any rest…Probably.

Was this the truth?

My thoughts seemed slow…sluggish even, as if the cold sorrow of my words was freezing everything inside.

I was wrong though…I wasn't Death. I was…

Weak.

Immoral.

Violent.

**Victim.**

My face hardened into an expression of anguish, pulling on the drying blood and breaking my paralysis.

A gurgle sounded, just a few feet from me but I couldn't give my attention to her—My thoughts were too consuming.

When did I abandon my discipline, my morals? The living and the dead were not separate in the slightest, in the mortuary business compassionate souls cared for not just the deceased but their _living _relatives and friends.

Was that my fault? I was never very compassionate…

Did I fail as a mortician in my vain attempts to truly help bring honor and respect to the deceased?

Did I think that if I idolized Death enough, the very destroyer of love and life, that I would better understand others and serve the deceased? Or was it only for my own sick desires?

I was so selfish…

Worthless even.

I was hopeless.

**Victim.**

A quiet sob filled the air—Whether it came from the tram—Isabella, or myself, I didn't care to check.

I-I did the right thing…Didn't I?

Death cared for the deceased, and if I became Death then I too—

What was I saying?! My very logic was flawed!

Death _murdered_ the deceased. How could Death give tribute to its victims…only the living could care for the dead.

Was Death in the room during each appointment with bereaved clients? Was Death guiding my hand as I embalmed and dressed bodies in the morgue? Was Death weeping in front of the open casket or over an urn? Was Death resting near a grave, bearing flowers and memories in respect to the deceased?

What did Death ever do but destroy?

What did I truly want to accomplish as—

A frowned marred my face.

No…that wasn't the answer. Was it?

If I was such a…a 'victim' for so much of my life did I take upon the persona of Death not to sympathize with fellow victims but to instead become…a villain?

Memories of my years as Death flew through my mind as I closed my eyes, my body swaying in place.

Did I masquerade Death as a patron of victims, an idol to which I made sacrifices, a moral which I lived my life by?

Oh how wrong I was…

Death didn't care. Death didn't create. Death only **destroyed.**

A black throbbing **mess** pulsated inside my chest.

Well wasn't that fucking convenient. I was **destroyed** and in turn **destroyed** everything I touched—

_"Everything you touch, you ruin. Your mere presence is a pestilence and _nothing_ will change that."_

Was **destroyed**.

Yet viruses and poisons **destroyed** others and eventually would **destroy** themselves if left alone for too long…but that didn't mean I was Death. Those viruses and poisons were _instruments_ of Death but not Death incarnate.

Technically all humans were instruments of Death, only some never realized their potential. Each life was marked for Death yet none were denied Death's power. Death in its purest form was impossible to possess unless one experienced it for themselves and even then the occurrences of near death or rather resurrection were rare.

Yes…I was misguided before, but now?

Despite the new calmness washing over me, taming the surface of the roaring **black** mess inside of me, I felt flashes of doubt enter my mind.

How many revelations would I endure only to understand that my previous revelation was false?

A dark grimace formed on my face as I opened my eyes.

Did it fucking matter?

Did my torture, Isabella's impalement, fucking matter?

Did _I_ fucking matter anymore?

I felt the dark mass inside of me grow in intensity; its writhing chaos would not be pacified.

No…it didn't **fucking** matter because I'd **make** myself known as a villain—Not a **victim.**

There would be no more delusions, there would be no more lies, there would only be **destruction.**

I may not be Death, but I would be the best instrument of Death Gotham had ever seen.

And I would begin my redemption **now.**

Isabella's screams once more filled the air but I didn't **fucking** care.


	75. Chapter 16: Paint It Black

**Ello! Minion here! First I'd like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers for your feedback. To be honest, I love the disturbed/horrified responses-It lets me know I'm doing my job right ;) **

**However, this chapter seems a bit...less fun than I thought it would be. I loved writing it, editing it, I've anticipated posting it but now that the day is here I'm hardly excited about it. This chapter was heavily inspired by the song 'Paint It Black' by The Rolling Stones. The song is great, the chapter was a blast, but right now my state is on fire. It's been burning for almost an entire month. Over five hundred homes were destroyed and two deaths were confirmed but by now there may be more. Although one terrible, destructive fire is now 95% contained, others start anew or older ones continue to burn. **

**Last summer there was also a terrible fire but it in no way matched the destruction of this year's fire. I remember seeing large plumes of smoke and feeling like the gates of hell were opening in the horizon. At one point the fire was climbing down a hill into my city and it burned ten miles from my house. We were prepared to be evacuated but thankfully the call was never made. The one time my family left the house, it was raining ashes. It's a very scary feeling to see that smoke, the ugly stain against the sky and know your state is burning. Yet this year it's even worse. I've lost count of how many times we've had smoke pour into our house or how many news reports show burning structures, collapsing forests, and panicked people. While not totally related, this chapter or rather the song it's based off of seems a to be a terrible reference to my state, now painted black.**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 16<strong>

I stared at the red door...

I wanted it to turn black—rotting with spiderwebed cracks as its vivid façade crumbled under the heat of my stare.

It would be charred, the paint would bubble, from somewhere deep within the wood would crackle and snap—It would **burn.**

The inferno of hate possessed me, tossing me from my chair and toward the chilled window. I felt like hissing at the radiating chill that failed to soothe my anger.

Such hated...It was so opposite of the cold resignation I had become so accustomed to under the pale eye of my doctor.

_Mine._

I felt my face rising into a snarl so rather than continue on that thought I gazed down from the tall window into the streets run ragged by Gotham's 'reckoning'.

I had stared down at the chaos before, a mere week ago when the world had changed forever for every Gothamite.

Throngs of people screamed, racing desperately through the streets in a manner usually foreign to the business district of Gotham. Sure, there were those desperate to make a deadline but this wasn't about running to society, it was about _fleeing_ from it.

Next came the wave of thugs, bandits and criminals who deemed Gotham ripe and their grubby hands deserving. Guests of luxurious hotels were tossed into the street, homes were invaded; those who lagged behind the groups or who were trampled in the midst were then at the mercy of every boogeyman to ever stalk the rotting streets of their 'precious' Gotham.

There were horror stories from every passerby, tear tracks on every face, but there was no one who could save them. The reports of Batman, the fallen vigilante who had lost sight of his own standing within the law, returning were a joke. If he had resurfaced he had quickly turned tail and burrowed into some pit like the flying rat he was.

Soon the 'good' citizens of Gotham were in hiding and the treasures of the elite were spread among the thieves.

A flash of colour caught my eye, drawing my attention to a gaggle of giggling girls, drunk off of booze and empty power. They wore ridiculous outfits for the season: bright satins, flashy jewelry, revealing scraps of lace.

I turned away from the sight, turning my back on the whores of the streets who were no doubt enjoying their rich rewards.

I scrunched up my eyes trying to rid my mind of the sight of a cackling prostitute, her face painted on an inch thick.

Filth...They were all so filthy for all their gaudy sparkles and sickly perfumes—

I wanted to see their mascara run, black tears shed as their faces warped in fear.

I wanted to paint everything **black**.

I walked forward, spurred on by that roaring fury within me, turning my blood into a frothy tempest.

The damned red door tore open, slamming against the plaster on the other side.

My steps were swift, steel-toed boots propelling me through the hallway in a fury of **black**.

A smile curved onto my face, gleaming like the reflection of a sickle.

I could almost imagine the trail of the taint of bitterness that sloshed within me as I moved down the stairwell. I almost could see the inky stain seeping from my skin, desecrating the disgustingly white walls with lashes of rage.

Bursting through the double doors, I began to prowl the streets.

The streets were deserted expect a line of cars painted black—cars of Bane's men.

I scoffed, wishing I had a flower of some sort that I may toss onto a windshield, giving thanks for both reuniting me with my love and ripping him away soon after.

My black trench coat flared out behind me, billowing menacingly in the shrieking wind. The few thugs who usually haunted the streets with their tell-tell saunter and smug expressions that permanently marred their faces, turned their heads at sight of me with a leer on their lips before quickly looking away, their faces ashen.

I strode right through them, my hair whipping around eerily like tendrils of darkness threatening to strike.

No one could ever hold my gaze except for Bane and Dr. Crane—Not after what I did to Isabella.

Instead of a lofty triumph singing in my veins I felt poisoned as though this black mass within me had leeched every drop of elation.

I closed my eyes once more in order to shut out the gutted streets, buildings protruding like ribs, trash scattered about like strings of ravaged flesh.

The cold air burned my cheeks but my mind had already conjured up the sight I had desired.

A face as white as bone, gasped wordlessly for no words could be spoken with the blunt pike protruding from it. Wide eyes were framed by purplish blood vessels that had broken out along her face. Her hair was matted, blood had caked every strand and the weather had encrusted it in place. She had been wearing a blouse of crème silk, elegant and only fitting of her new title: _Mrs._ Kendall. The top was now in shreds, _saturated_ by her blood.

It wasn't enough to impale her, prolonging her death for _hours_ as the blunt end of the shaft had merely pushed her organs aside gently instead of puncturing them, I wanted her to **bleed** for every second she had **breathed** after my failed punishment.

When I had interrupted Dr. Crane, ripping the gavel from his clutches and giving a sentencing of my own the 'jury' had erupted in cheers. Even when the steel pike had been erected in place, courtesy of Bane, they whistled and clapped. It wasn't until afterward, when she _didn't_ die immediately, that they began to shuffle uneasily.

Then as her tears froze so did their blood.

It must have been painful...especially when the steel grew colder than the air itself but perhaps it was more painful for them to _watch_ as I spoke to her softly for almost a full day, watching every flicker of emotion in that ugly, ugly face.

I opened my eyes.

I wanted to see it painted black.

The whole city was an open sore. It pushed out the pus that was imbedded in every brick with a sickly pulsation.

Glass shattered, muffled curses filled the air with puffs of breath; I glared up at the clouds knowing it would snow again.

Just as I turned onto the sidewalk, a flicker of caution waving a red flag in my head despite the redundancy of watching out for traffic, two thugs burst out of a convenience store, handfuls of cash clutched desperately in their gloves.

One of them caught sight of me and blanched, tripping over himself and leaving a trail of money as he and his companion fled into the bleak city.

The red metal door, scuffed and graffitied, caught my eye.

My writhing anger seethed at the sight. Not quite certain why I barreled through the door, scanning the isles—I wanted to break everything.

And so I did.

Bottles shattered filling the air with the heady scent of alcohol but I walked over the wet tiles, glass crunching underfoot as I upturned a rack advertising sugary treats. Lashing out with hand and foot, I splintered wooden counters, ripped apart bags of food.

It wasn't enough...

I stood there, panting and more enraged than ever.

I wanted to smear black all over, drench the chaos in the same shade of slate that I had drowned in.

My eyes swept across the ruined store, searching for something _anything_ to assist me but soon enough I found my shaking hands, bloodied from my tantrum, not continuing their blind destruction but instead grasping a slightly bent box of hair dye:

It was **black.**

Rather than feeling a flare of success I only felt an explosion of hate erupt beneath my skin; I could barely believe it could be contained within me...

Letting out a cry of discontent, I stormed to the bathroom intent on staining everything even if it meant I lost myself.

The door crashed open but I had only eyes for the mirror. It was cracked, speckled with dirt—No, with **black.**

My hands soon blurred as I tore open the package, not even hesitating in my decision.

What use was there in clinging to the past? After all it's not easing facing up when your whole world is black.

As I used my knife to open the package after quickly skimming the instructions, I looked into the mirror noting my pale face, too open eyes, and the shadowy monster within me, rising to the surface until it'd open its gaping maw and swallow me whole.

I wanted to see it painted **black.**

Pocketing my knife I then began to dye my hair, already wet from the sink's water. I didn't have gloves to protect my hands but I didn't care if my fingers bore blotches of ink for I was already stained.

When I had finished I barely spared myself a glance in the mirror because the furnace roaring within me demanded action.

No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue, I could not be made compliant by his teachings or his punishments—There was no room for colour in this world structured solely from **black.**

As I tore through the streets again, my wet hair acting as a siren for the cold to seize me in a terrible grip, I thought of my doctor...

Perhaps one day we could be happy, as happy as we could be submerged in a world of **black.**

The ugly rage scorched the image almost as soon as it had been crafted.

Burned it to a **blackened** crisp.

**Black** as night.

His pale eyes capturing mine from across the room, several feet and a mountain of desks between us.

**Black **as coal.

His raspy voice silencing mine from his high seat of honour so much greater than my rickety chair.

_"Court Postponed."_

As though I were struck across the face I relived the shock of the situation all over.

All I had given, all I had undergone, was merely brushed aside as he worked his post as 'judge' and I stared at that hideous red door, a mockery of whatever passion most relationships constituted.

I wanted to see the sun blotted out from the sky...

Painted **black.**

I could feel the air burn, hear the hisses of the flames, taste the bitterness of the ash—Yes, everything would be burned **black.**

When I strode into the courtroom the session was already in progress: the jury hollering, the rifle-bearing guards sneering, the most current 'defendant' pleading for mercy as the next trembled. Even Bane was there, standing so stationary it was uncanny but I had eyes only for my doctor, his arm waving in the air about to sentence the weeping Gothamite to dea—'exile'.

Yet the moment his eyes fell on me his jaw dropped and his hand froze in the air.

Not pausing in my momentum I strode to the front of the courtroom, the searing heat of my internal pyre keeping everyone at bay.

I only stopped when I was beside the sniveling 'defendant' and even then I had only paused to roughly shove her to the floor.

**"Leave."**

She scrambled away but a rifle sounded, leaving only the echo of a gurgle and the whiff of gunpowder in the air.

"Hey, what do you think—"

Without thinking I tore the uneven chair from its spot and brought it across the head of an unruly juryman, the sickening **crack** silencing the entire room.

I took another step forward, my boot squeaking slightly as the growing pool of blood spread.

A second later I was at the base of the mountain of desks, my head raised to view him struggling to compose himself while sneaking glances toward Bane.

I didn't tear my eyes away as I barked a second warning.

**"LEAVE!"**

There was a scraping of wood, a rustle of clothing, even the begin of a curse but soon the room grew silent—as rooms only do when they're empty.

I had no doubt Bane had approved of my command and enforced it as well with a slight nod and although I knew I would have to answer to him later in order to compensate him for the slight inconvenience, I didn't care.

I made my way up the mountain, aided by the stairs on the side; I had not calmed but rather I suffered a muted fury. I knew I would unleash this choking inferno, burning myself out to a crisp before descending into ash, but I could not change this course lined with **black.**

Although he had stood, hoping to retain some sense of superiority as I stood before him but I saw a flicker of something within his eyes. A flicker that was brought out by the startling shade of my hair and the burning intensity within my eye, both endlessly **black.**

He opened his mouth, no doubt some snarky retort ready to roll of his tongue but I lunged forward, pressing him against the desk he had cluttered with useless papers and items. My hand grabbed at his face, the other restrained his shoulder, and I noted that my cold fingers were indeed speckled with dye.

It wasn't enough though...to take my finger as a brush and stroke his face, and so I kissed him heatedly, painting him until he was the same shade of **black**.

He struggled beneath my crushing grip, but I merely growled, tearing my lips off his so as to snarl and push him back further so he was forced to seat himself on the desk, crumpling paper with his sudden movement.

Ferociously I pounced on him once more, straddling him as I knocked over a stack of books which in turned pushed over a clock and shattered a fine glass one would expect to drink champagne from.

Leaning forward, forcing him to balance on his elbows, I ripped the heavy, fur collared coat from his shoulders. My fingers deftly clasped his tie, yanking it loose as I then descended to the buttons of his vest.

Roughly biting his neck so as to leave a bruise, a mere _smudge_ of the black that I was composed of, he began to fight me.

He only half succeeded, panting as he held my stained hands in his equally cold ones. Our breath filled the air between us, forming a small cloud that failed to obscure the curiosity in his eyes and the _desire_ that drew me to him once more, parting his lips with mine in order to share the blaze within me, the cackling flames that would keep us warm in the otherwise frigid courtroom.

However, he refused to fall into submission once more and sought to rid me of my trench coat, thin hands creeping under the layers of clothing before unclasping my bra.

The shock of such _cold_ fingers caused me to hiss, arching my back and unknowingly grinding into his growing arousal.

A thin smirk twisted his cold lips but I burned away the expression with another battle of tongues and teeth.

Distracted by his wandering hands and shifting hips, I was only able to nip his lip one last time before he abruptly tackled me into the ground.

The hard tile struck my ribs painfully but I was already rising to meet his body, seeking to pull it down and flip us around so he was once more below me. While my trench coat acted as a makeshift blanket I stripped him off his large coat and added it to the floor as well.

His nails dug into the soft skin of my hips, spreading gooseflesh to the rest of my body but I had barely enough time to react before he thrust his hips upward, forcing his heated arousal against mine.

My face crumpled in pleasure, forgetting the burning intensity of my ire as a new fire began to scorch my innards.

Through a lusty haze I rid him of his dusty suit and the majority of buttons along his starched shirt and ironed vest, no doubt stolen.

Clearly impatient he squeezed my hips once more before grasping the edges of my many layers and pulled upward, forcing me to raise my arms as well lest I be trapped in a tangle of clothes. However, the moment my still damp and slightly frozen hair was free of the clothing he bucked me off of him, wrestling me into the ground face first.

I fought to free my head, trapped below the layers of clothes also keeping my arms prisoner but when I succeeded he had already begun to spread my legs, his fingers undoing my belt with ease.

By the time my zipper had been undone as well—the sound spiking my excitement—I had only the slightest of warnings (husky breathing in my ear) before he caressed my most intimate part. I trembled under his touch, feeling the _cold_ seeping through the thin fabric of my underwear but suddenly the sensation stopped.

I let out a breathy moan, more disappointed than I had expected myself to be, but focused on ridding my arms of the restraining layers.

Perhaps I had finished sooner than he had expected because I caught him with his hand on his belt and a look of surprise on his face.

My anger took me by full force causing me to slap his hand away, the **smack** echoing as he grimaced but I didn't give him time to react passed that as I straddled him once more, ripping open his vest as I fought his mouth for dominance.

Gripping my shoulders with a bruising force he splayed his fingers down my arms, wrenching away the useless impediment of my bra so as to better clutch my back.

I forcibly tore myself away from the kiss, eager to burn a trail down his neck...over his collar bone...halfway down his torso before he pulled my inky hair, forcing my scowling face to meet his as he pushed me down.

We scratched and bit, writhed and hit each other in a rare moment of honesty spoken only in action.

Soon after we were nude atop each other, our clothes forming a thin bed above the scuffed tiles.

Our battle did not end there but continued on as the courtroom darkened, allowing the inky fingers of night to seep in, the whisper of ice following closely behind; however, under the sole light of a desk lamp we were on fire, embracing each other atop our discarded clothes until the bulb burned out with a hiss, leaving us in a world of **black.**


	76. Chapter 17: Executioner

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you lovely readers and reviewers for your concern toward the fires and feedback toward the story. This chapter is a lot less fiery than the other but hopefully satisfying as well. **

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 17<strong>

"Executioner?" I asked, the words bringing a sweet taste to my mouth.

Bane was silent. No matter the unsightly girth of his muscles and general towering appearance, it was those eyes that troubled me.

Unimpeded by hair or even that strange mask of his, Bane's eyes were by far the most telling feature of the man. I had seen too many people fall to his might simply because his might was all they saw. The warnings present in his eyes were left unheeded—a mistake I did not make.

Swallowing I nodded in affirmation, "Alright…Is there a…'preference' for the executions? I mean do you want me to use a singular method of execution?"

Yet because of those eyes the rest of him in comparison seemed to blur into a smear of muscle and clothing as I stared intently into his gaze, afraid to break away for a moment lest I miss a vital sign. Especially if he _did_ require a specific method of killing.

I dearly hoped not—If Bane was like most men, he would opt for a simple answer: guns.

Oh how I hated guns, they were terribly ugly. Not in appearance but in intention.

Somehow knowing the power of guns I was neither enthralled nor scared but just disgusted. Sure they were no different than an advanced bow, bullets and clips replacing arrows and quivers, but the leap in technology was one that I could not follow.

Although I had touched guns before it was never by choice and even then I only used it as a tool to beat a man's head.

Something about guns just…repulsed me.

"It does not matter what you use as long as they are executed—Work with haste, Revis, I do not tolerate failure."

Wordlessly I nodded, staring at the ground so as to gather my thoughts, only half aware of the room surrounding me.

In fact, it was Bane's lack of movement that caused me to glance up seeing his hard gaze then nod again and turn away, prepared to plan out my role as 'executioner' while toying with the thought that I seemed more similar to Elocin than ever. We both served as instruments of Death. Pensive and walking in a haze, only protected in the grimy streets by my reputation, I returned to the 'courtroom' unsure of Dr. Crane's reaction to my 'promotion'.

Well, the sentence of 'Death' was (unfortunately) rarely chosen so my job would be more of waiting listlessly than actually carrying out the executions. In fact, this was just another way to keep me pacified. Bane couldn't allow Dr. Crane to run amiss so he placated him with the lofty role of judge and appeased his request for my presence.

However as I proved in my reckless intervention of his 'court' that I was more trouble than I was worth. Unable to sit complacent in Dr. Crane's quarters, I was now swept under the rug with a flimsy title of 'executioner'. If I was wallowing in Crane's court then whatever threat or at least unpredictability I had possessed was now neutralized.

Yet it wasn't as though I was able or willing to overthrow Bane—Dr. Crane's safety demanded that I do as the masked man said.

Taking a deep breath I entered the courtroom this time without any theatrics.

I was ordered to meet Bane (and escorted as well) just after Dr. Crane had left to the courtroom so there shouldn't be a large crowd, most of the Gothamites preferred to sleep in their borrowed nests no matter the constant flow of 'defendants'.

And so my entrance, no matter how subtle, still drew a great deal of attention from the guards, meager clumps of Gothamites, and, of course, Dr. Crane.

His eyes barely expressed any recognition as he glanced up from the papers he was holding before his gaze fell upon his most recent defendant. Drawling the defendants name, 'crime', and choice of sentence the cowering rich fool stammered out the preferred sentence of 'exile'.

How boring…Yet it was only to be expected.

The balding man, his potbelly poorly covered by his stained suit, was led away as his place was taken this time by a middle-aged woman—Yet the entire time Dr. Crane did not once return his gaze to mine.

Just as I had thought…no matter my 'role' I would be cast aside, unneeded and useless.

Dr. Crane wouldn't care for my problems…he never did. He couldn't be burdened by a **victim** he only had time for an equal, and now as _true_ instrument of Death I should fit the role quite nicely.

I sighed deeply in contentment and while the sound carried farther than I had thought it would in the grand room, it was still swallowed up by the wails of the 'guilty' woman.

Calmly I walked up the side of the courtroom easily weaving through the scarce amount of people shuffling amongst each other as they easily traded crude humor and cigarettes.

He knew I was approaching him, that I had something to share with him, and yet he paid me no greater attention than he would a measly grunt.

That lovely bastard.

Ignoring the imposing structure of desks and chairs that build his mountain on which his throne was perched, I instead used one of the two curving stairways hidden from view.

Oh yes, the illusion of presiding over a large court without any steps from which he ascended was pleasing to his bloated ego—as if the lack of stairs elevated his position from busy work to some privileged role bestowed upon only the most 'worthy'.

He was always one for appearances, standards on which he build his lies…the lies I loved for even now was his affection not an appearance he must upkeep? There was no 'love potion' to secure his heart, there was only a hopeful wish that he would see our bastardized 'relationship' as a tool to further his research and image.

Dr. Crane spoke again, going through the motions and no doubt enjoying the woman's hysteric begging behind his cold, blue eyes.

The sleepy crowd crowed with laughter and taunts as she was dragged away yet I merely sat atop Dr. Crane's main desk, purposefully crinkling the papers necessary for his 'judgment' underneath my trenchcoat.

"I've been appointed executioner," my voice, utterly lifeless, betrayed my thoughts of the position.

Not even Dr. Crane's biting response stirred any emotions within me, "Then as executioner you should take your place beside me instead of interfering with the court—"

"Hey! Stop your chatter!"

"Get to it, will ya?"

I partially turned my head to the outbreak of complaints but before I could see whose offending remarks would be their last, Dr. Crane continued.

"Or were you expecting a name plaque of 'Death' to commend you for your achievements?"

Faintly I felt a ripple of that **black **anger deep within my heart but I ignored it in favor of silence and separation from Dr. Crane.

Instead of 'bothering' him further I sunk down the top of another desk supporting his official one and I waited—Already growing bored of the tedious role I was forced into; a role which only spurred a _greater_ agitation between us.

For a moment I thought I misheard him, but then Dr. Crane repeated himself in a hiss—this time kicking the wall of the desk I was leaning against to ensure I listened:

"We'll discuss this later—Outside the courtroom at 1 o'clock."

…

I was leaning against a brick wall of a building waiting for Dr. Crane to exit the 'court room' as he had promised earlier in the day.

He was two hours late.

Of course I didn't expect him to be on time, he never was due to the endless stream of Gothamites deserving damnation. I had surely thought after a few months the number of the 'guilty' would have severely decreased. After all, how many people made up a fraction of the 1% in America? Thousands? Millions?

Laughter drifted over the icy road, wrapping me tightly in a pleasant shock. Very few had much to laugh about—unless one took into account the rotten cackles of convicts experiencing the 'joy' of freedom—but this laughter was different than the others...soft, musical almost.

I peered through the light mist and noted two short figures dancing around with a merriment that was so foreign in the present state of grey Gotham.

I licked my lips, ready to call out but the already chapped skin tore further causing me to wince in pain. Licking my lips again I tasted blood.

"Hey!"

My head whipped up at the call but before I could draw the blade I kept on my hip, the ends of my trenchcoat were tugged on by two smiling girls poorly clothed against the blistering cold.

"Hey lady, will you play with us?"

I blinked in surprise but before I could register my movement I was kneeling before them, a soft smile stretching my lips further, "Aren't you two cold? Shouldn't you be inside?"

One shivered violently and with a slight pang I noticed her fingers were bright red and her lips pale yet the other one, attempting to twirl a lock of frozen hair answered, "Well Missy don-don't come back so-so we went out."

Missy? Was that an older sister? A mother maybe?

"Here," I shuffled off my warm trench coat, stiffening against the cold wind, "You two should put this on and then we can play."

Amid my actions I found myself wondering what I was doing. I wasn't their baby-sitter, I certainly wasn't their mother—

But if I didn't help them, who would?

Their adoring faces beamed up at me as they cuddled into the large expanse of fabric.

They couldn't have been older than five.

"I-I'm still cold," the shorter one complained.

"Oh...okay," I knelt down then thinking twice I sat with my legs crossed on the cold, **cold** cement, my back against the wall.

I had barely exhaled in reaction to the frigid stone when they two of them plopped onto my lap, cuddling toward my warm body.

How trusting they were! So delicate and precious! Didn't they know there were those that would harm them, rip their beautiful dreams of childhood to shreds?

Those like me?

"I'm Journey and I'm a princess!" the long haired brunette declared, white puffs of air escaping from the gap in her still growing teeth.

"Journey..." the name made me uneasy but also drew me toward her, "that's a beautiful name and perfect for a princess."

The other girl, with shorter hair but of the same shade, spoke up, "I'm Destiny, but I'm not a princess. I'm a knight!"

"Only _boys_ are knights..." Journey mumbled.

Journey and Destiny? Was this a dream or were they merely the victims of poor namesakes?  
>"You're both wonderful little girls," I assured them, half-disbelieving of my situation—some instrument of Death I was.<p>

Yet still Gotham wasn't a place for sweet girls like this—

Before I could stop myself a wave of guilt crashed over me.

Did they have a place to stay? One free of junkies and whores? Did they have food to eat? Clean water to drink or bathe in? Were they warm at night—

That was a stupid question, I had found them in the streets around 3 am.

I held them close wishing I could impress fanciful dreams of warmth and security into their hearts. Yet the reality of the situation was only too cruel.

I couldn't take them home, especially not to _him_.

What mother figure would I be, tucking my surrogate children into bed (what bed, I was currently sharing a _couch _in an office!) with stained hands bearing the blood of mothers who screamed for mercy if only to tend to her children.

I had orphaned so many children, perhaps even these girls.

Destiny began to cry.

Alarmed I shushed her, trying to balance them both as I withdrew one hand from the makeshift blanket of my trench coat—noting with burning cheeks the splatters of blood I neglected to scrub away—and rubbed the tears from her face slightly startled that they were already cold.

"I-I'm so w-warm," her fragile body shuddered, pulling at my heartstrings, "I h-haven't been th-this—" she sucked in a breath but soon fell into a grief no child should experience.

As quickly as I dared, I wiped her face clean fearing the tears would freeze if left alone.

Journey shuffled over to hug her companion, elbowing me in the ribs in the process, "I-It's okay, sis."

"—this warm," she finally finished but the pain in her voice caused my own eyes to fill with tears.

Was there a shelter where I could leave them in good hands—

**NO!**

A rabid ferocity overcame me as irrational thoughts repetitively circled my mind.

No one could protect them like I could, especially when I was one of the most feared figures in Gotham. No one could provide for them like I could, while not glamorous my position held perks. No one could love them—

Love?

I didn't _know_ these children, how could I love them?

Was this some dormant motherly instinct rising from some repressed corner of my psyche?

"Who's he?" Destiny asked, her sobs abruptly silenced and by the sound of her wavering voice it was by something far too familiar: fear.

Confused I looked up, half expecting a run of the mill thug looking for an easy target (and oh would he be surprised when he saw me), when I recognized Dr. Crane's pale eyes taking in the scene with obvious contempt.

"I—He," I found myself at a loss for words.

I fucking hated the image we made: my pale, startled face looking up as the two girls huddled together in my lap using the trench coat as a shield while he stared down on us disdainfully.

Silly little girls, my blood-stained coat could not shield you just as my equally stained hands could not protect you—Not from this monster.

Yet perhaps I had judged them too soon for Destiny bravely took her sister's hand and threw the trench coat off them in order to stand proudly, "He's a _bad_ man, sis. Let's go."

She began to pull away but Journey pulled back her hand long enough to quickly hug me and whisper, "Goodbye tall lady."

I hadn't even the chance to put my hand atop her back before she too fled from me, disappearing into the mist with her sister.

I was struck by the maturity and intuition in the young girls, two aspects that no child should know.

Soft footsteps drew my attention to wrinkled slacks and scuffed shoes and although I felt as though I were underwater I needed to take a stand. I couldn't show weakness passed what I had already.

Stiffly standing I retrieved my coat from the ground trying to convince myself that the shivers were from the cold and not his staring.

I had barely fastened my coat, feeling the residual warmth from the two girls, when he spoke, "I hadn't known you were fond of taking in strays, Revis."

I exhaled, closely inspecting the sidewalk while my white breath hide my face for a moment, "You're late..."

"And you're disgusting—"

I whipped my head up just in time for his cold hand to grasp my cheek; someone watching us from a distance would think the gesture was romantic but I knew better, "How can you cajole the very children you've orphaned?"

I stood my ground, my eyes defiant.

"Or were you merely chasing after the dream that one day you would be a mother?"

His remark was terribly cruel, after all he had knowingly offered me the very poison that robbed me of my fertility with a smirk.

I clenched my jaw, an action he no doubt felt through his hand, "We both know that's not conducive to our lifestyle—"

"Don't lie to yourself, Revis," his hand shifted as his fingers wove through my dyed hair. Even his hips shifted, pushing his body on mine, "We both know conception isn't even _possible_."

I blinked rapidly attempting to look away but he merely forced my head against the wall, his hand curled tightly into my not so short hair, "You're unfit to be a mother or have you forgotten already?"

His breath was cold, it felt unnatural, "The little blonde girl you killed—Did you see it, Revis? The life _bleeding_ from her panicked, blue eyes? Did you _enjoy_ it?"

"No..." I spoke lowly as if his words didn't grate on my mind—I would not be talked down to but instead I would reply with equally grating words, "I only saw the panic, the desperation, in _your_ eyes when I brought your dead love to mind."

He paused for a moment before releasing me, "She's dead; there's no use—"

"Then why does she haunt you?" I asked, my eyes probing.

My hands grasped the furred collar of his thick coat, "Hm?"

Before I could react he tightly grasped my arm and began to drag me down the street. Even when I matched his pace, walking beside him as we entered the old stock exchange building, quickly bypassing our usual destinations for a long trek up the building's stairs, he didn't relinquish his tight hold.

The door to the roof opened with a crash revealing perhaps one of the only areas untouched by Gotham's plight. Briefly I noticed him nudge a chipped piece of wood, quite a pathetic use for a door stopper, into place with his foot as I wondered absentmindedly if the door, should it close, would lock.

However, my musings were cut off as he led me to the center of the rooftop.

By now his grip had far surpassed a tolerable level of pain but I remained silent, knowing he needed someone to hold onto even if he wouldn't admit it.

As my circulation grew worse causing my arm to throb in time with my heartbeat, all sensation gone, he paused to collect himself.

"Her...Her name was Madeline."

Maybe the bite of the air gave his words more permanence but it seemed that the short sentence built a wall between us. I had hoped by revealing his past that the wall would be torn down brick by brick but now I realized that I would only see how high the wall reached.

"She—" he stopped himself, no doubt overrun by his thoughts and the endless possibilities.

I placed a hand on his chest. I could feel every beat of his heart, an ache that never ceased, "You don't have to—"

_'Remember' _was what I was about to say before I stopped myself.

Why was it that after waiting almost nine years for this confession, I suddenly didn't want to know? Was I still so selfish of a lover as the late Monsieur claimed? Could I even call my feelings for Dr. Crane 'love'? Was I, a **destroyer**, even capable of the emotion?

His eyes met mine and while his words were silenced his eyes were left unguarded. They were not filled with hope or hate, peace or persecution, but simply bare—dead almost.

"It happened on the roof...one night, a special night," he closed his eyes, reliving the moment, "She didn't jump...She fell—She had no other choice."

I furrowed my eyebrows but said nothing.

"I didn't love her," he opened his eyes, the dissecting look already returning, "I—"

As though I had burned him, he released my arm and despite the almost painful rush of blood to my sore arm I found myself wishing he never moved.

"It's late..." he whispered, a lame excuse considering the effort he took to bring us up here, but I could hear what he really said—

Suddenly a strong gale of wind hit the roof causing the wooden stopper to grind a moment before the heavy metal door slammed shut behind us.

A rare look of shock crossed his unusually pale face before he strode to the door and yanked uselessly at the handle.

I suppose the door _did_ lock automatically.

His pale eyes flashed toward me accusingly, even as his shadow from the faint safety light above the door fell over me I couldn't get his unsaid phrase from my mind:

_I was too late._

Instead of berating me as I had thought he would resort to, he fixed me with an evaluating gaze.

Unable to meet his eyes, fearing his retaliation would come any moment, I turned away and walked to the edge of the roof.

Another gale of wind blew over me, attempting to propel me back into his grasp but I remained solid, my trench coat billowing behind me as I became oh so exposed to the brutal chill of the air.

Trapped on a rooftop, no doubt one that paralleled his past, and I was too cowardly to embrace the opportunity—or was I merely being considerate?

Unsure of my intentions I turned around to face him only to find his back turned to me.

For a moment I stood there, motionless, before I strode toward him.

I was afraid to touch him, to shatter this silence between us but I needed to bridge the gaping darkness—I couldn't allow yet another rift to separate us.

Tentatively I reached for his hand, grasping the cold flesh in my own without pressing further.

He once mocked me for the trivial idea of holding hands but I hoped he would see the true meaning behind this and not just a faded gesture between couples. I wasn't holding onto him for warmth, for possession, I was reaching out in hopes I may grasp his hand with a strength of my own so that we may face the dangers of his mind together.

Yet as his hand crushed mine without warning causing me to hiss and reflexively wrench my hand away nevermind my true intentions.

If I had failed some test of his, or confirmed his suspicions, he didn't give any sign but instead spoke sharply, "Unless we find a way inside, we'll be dead before someone finds us."

Blinking at his harsh words I retorted, "That's not true, the sunrise will warm us—"

His eyes flashed toward me so suddenly I barely noticed his body move, "Do you think _anyone_ will come looking for us? The role of a 'Judge' can easily be filled, Bane has plenty of men capable of fulfilling both of our duties. We have no purpose, we're not wanted, and _no one_ will begin a search for two missing criminals."

I furrowed my eyebrows, hesitating to allow my building rage to show although his was already evident, "So this entire time..._nothing_," my voice shook with emotion despite myself, "was keeping us from leaving?"

"No one is allowed to leave Gotham, all the bridges—"

"No, I meant leave this building, these people—leave everything behind and begin a new life without obeying orders like we have for so many years!"

He took my shoulders roughly, his overgrown hair falling into his face, "Do you never pay attention?! We had five months, Revis—_Five_ months and already three have passed. Did you believe if we were alongside Bane we would be spared? Or if we fled no one would notice two citizens escaping? The moment Bane destroyed those _damned_ bridges he condemned everyone to a death sentence, even himself."

I struggled to comprehend the new information, "I-I never knew...I was brought to the stock exchange basement the moment I returned to Gotham...I knew the bridges were gone but...why? Why would Bane...?"

His hands slid down my shoulders to tightly grasp my arms, "Bane is a member of The League of Shadows, a radical organization bent on destroying Gotham. His conviction is absolute and there _is_ no escape."

Was there really just two months left?

Numbly I rested my head against his collarbone, allowing the fur of his collared coat to tickle my cheek, "We're going to die..."

The realization washed over me leaving me chilled—or maybe that was just the cold air that seized me as Dr. Crane sharply turned away from me.

"As the instrument of Death this no doubt pleases you?" his familiar words held a venomous bite as he remained turned away from me.

My eyes filled with tears and my nose burned as I took two steps toward him my right hand tightly grasping the loose fabric of his coat, "But I don't want you to die..."

Doubt began to create fissures in my mind, already so poisoned…how was I capable of light, altruistic emotions like this? Perhaps I could love…and perhaps it was only fitting that I love a monster like _him._

When he turned around, breaking my grip, I expected a fierce reaction but instead was met with a strained expression, "Revis..."

Refusing to allow him to finish his sentence I closed the distance between us in an aching kiss, my stray tear clinging to his cheek so when I pulled away it seemed as though those cold eyes had shed a tear as well.

"I love you..."

Although his voice was raspy I heard his words only too clearly, "I know."

I looked down, feeling the expected stab of disappointment—Yet what have I done to deserve any better?

Nothing...

Another gust of wind struck the rooftop, fully extinguishing our anger, the result of too much tension and stress, and leaving us in a melancholy mood.

"You remind me of her..."

I raised my head only to meet guarded eyes.

"She was...impulsive, foolish, and entirely irrational...and just like you she was willing to die for delusional ideals," his thin fingers tilted my chin upward, "_Unlike_ you, her intentions were noble and entirely in vain."

Marveling at the fact that he had once been somewhat romantically involved with someone bearing similar characteristics (well, faults), I was all too complacent as he continued.

"After her death, I busied myself with other matters...Matters necessary to avenge her murder."

Somehow the image of Dr. Crane avenging _anyone_ was impossible to conjure.

"It was a minor closure...a small settlement within the injustice we suffered but soon greater events drew my attention away from the past."

Gently I placed my hand over his heart, "But you couldn't forget..."

His eyes held a wary quality that pained me but I forced myself to continue, "When I asked you who else is there for you to love..." I paused taking a steadying breath but before I could continue he interrupted me.

"She's dead..."

Hearing the same response, even years later, caused me to bow my head in a pained exhale the burning lashes of agony and shame rising with every aching heartbeat.

Even the instrument of Death felt the pain of life.

Although I felt his hands cradle my ears, his fingers weaving in my hair, I kept my eyes closed too miserable to bear his punishing gaze yet my eyes flashed open the moment he took my lips in a searing kiss.

Unwillingly melting into his embrace, even moving closer so as to better enjoy the rare gift of affection, I was unprepared for his hot breath against my lips contradicting his cool, analyzing eyes, "_Memento Mori_, Revis."

Vague flutters of that lovely night in some nameless hotel room lit my heart with a foolish hope.

Prolonging my confusion with the precision of a sadist, he continued to kiss me this time directing me to the cold metal of the roof's door.

Melting...everything was melting.

The frigid temperature, the tension, the worry, the pain, the fear...

Breaking away for air, I shakily raised my hand to cup his face, in total awe of the situation, of _him_, _"Momento Mori?"_

He didn't smile, he didn't waver in his icy stare, but I felt a shift in the air around us as he responded in affirmation:

_"Momento Mori..."_


	77. Chapter 18: Malusdomesticaphobia

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you lovely readers and reviewers, there were so many good questions and wonderful insightful ideas that I felt very overwhelmed! Thank you all so much! **

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 18<strong>

As the sun rose, we were huddled together against the metal door untouched by the once frigid air. Yet when the first rays of light brightened the sky Revis turned her head deeper into the lapel of my suit, wishing to bask in the obscurity of night, sheltered from the luminance of day which would (in her mind) no doubt bring a new assault of disappointment.

Smirking softly in a way that might have been confused for a smile in the dim light of dawn, I tightened my grip around her shoulders attempting to draw her closer without the blanket of her trench coat sliding down.

Feeling her timid fingers brush across the buttons of my suit nimbly undoing them, I cleared my throat, "You truly are—"

"Shut up..." she murmured, her lips cold against my neck.

Revis shifted so as to partially straddle my sitting body, her back bent in order to keep her trench coat in place; blue gold eyes gazed into mine with a new intensity, "I just want to..." her hand splayed up my chest seemingly attempting to merge with the fabric, "feel..." swiftly my shirt fell prey to her prying hands until a shock of chilled fingers touched my chest, "your heart."

I opened my mouth to question her but I found myself speechless as she dipped her head down kissing the exposed flesh before resting her ear against it. Unnerved by her actions my heart skipped a beat yet when she smiled I felt the scratch of her chapped lips brush against my skin.

She stayed there, her ear pressed against my chest listening to the steady beat of my heart, as I held her in my arms.

I felt...content.

Occasionally I would feel her hand, beside her head, dig into my unbuttoned shirt as though she needed to ground herself to the moment.

However, the peaceful moment was shattered with the violent **bang** of a gun in the streets below.

Revis jumped at the sound causing the trench coat to fall past her shoulders and pool around her waist leaving her bare to the bite of the morning air that easily penetrated the thin knee length blue dress and dark tights she had looted a few days earlier.

The shot must have brought her mind back to the truth of our predicament.

"We need to find a way off of this roof."

Revis sighed kissing my heart before raising her head to look me in the eye as I replied, "We're on a large building, I doubt there will be any overhanging ledges or nearby fire escapes."

By the time I had finished speaking my shirt was once more buttoned and my mouth otherwise occupied.

Breaking apart from the kiss, Revis stood grabbing her trench coat with a flourish as she did.

Embracing rather than shirking from the morning chill, she looked around to the neighboring buildings as though there may be something she hadn't noticed before, something that would contradict my earlier statement. Yet from her long expression, hardly hidden by her black hair and the alluring flutter of her lightly coloured dress, I knew she also felt the situation was hopeless.

Standing as well, I searched for a useful tool atop the roof itself that might help.

Less than ten minutes later, we were standing hand in hand our silence filling the air with gloom—or more accurately Revis (now tightly wrapped in her trench coat) held my hand in hers sighing as I stood in thought.

There were no options, no outlet, nothing that would provide us with a means to escape and true to my word _no one_ would come to search for us.

My eyes darted to the mocking metal door as if my glare would unlock it.

Such a simple feature, a chilled frame fastened by bolts, separated us from the rest of Gotham.

A gasp of surprise caught my attention as Revis sprang toward the door like a tightly coiled spring that was suddenly released.

Kneeling before the door, she unsheathed her knife and began to fiddle with the area near the door handle.

Hearing my footsteps she began to explain herself, "If I can find a screw I can use my knife to untwist it and with the handle off it won't be locked—"

The biting screech of metal against metal sounded as her knife slipped in her trembling fingers.

Wincing Revis then shot me a sheepish expression, "Maybe instead of the screw I could slid the knife through the space between the metal and the door and use it as leverage to open it."

My eyes flashed to the door itself taking in its finer details as Revis attempted to find a gap between the handle and the door. Her idea was flawed but she wasn't amiss in thinking to dismantle the door in some way.

Extending my hand I replied condescendingly, "Hand over the knife before you slice open your hand."

Taken aback by my request, she stood slowly her eyes uncertain.

"Revis..." I gazed into her eyes expectantly my hand still outstretched.

Fear flashed across her face as confusion and wariness fought for control.

I took a step closer, using my extended hand to run my fingers along her arm while simultaneously forcing it against the door.

Raking my eyes over her body I silently took the knife from her loosely curled fingers noting the quickness of her breath and the tremble of her body.

One might mistake such actions as a response to **fear** but I was not fooled—she was more afflicted by _lust_ than any degree of terror.

Oh my masochistic Revis, what ever shall I do with you?

"Your boot..."

A look of confusion crossed over her face as she asked dumbly, "What?"

Unwilling to repeat myself, I kneeled before her, gripping her hip so that the knife pressed into her side where her trench coat did not cover. The action evoked a breathy cross between a moan and a whimper.

Using my free hand I began to unlace one of her worn steel-toe boots, the only shoes she owned.

As if by some impulse, she began to lean down in order to unlace the boot herself but as the knife cut through her thin blue dress and pricked her vulnerable skin, she let out a gasp and straightened her back, breathing hard.

As her boot was now unlaced, I slid it off noting the threadbare quality of her tights, runs climbing up her leg from her foot. Curling her thinly clothed toes against the cold, Revis stood uncertainly against the door.

Upon rising I caught scent of her arousal.

I gazed into her eyes, leaning closer as her body pressed against mine testing the limits the blade presented. Her eyes clouded with lust, her face became faintly flushed, and so I took advantage of her, nearing her face only to whisper in her ear, "Move."

She stiffened before moving first in the direction of the knife which resulted in a hiss and flinch. Moving the other way she was then able to clutch her side freely as her blood began to seep through the thin fabric.

As she watched, probably more focused on her fantasies than my actions, I maneuvered the knife to press against the underside of the door's bolt then carefully began hammering the hilt of the knife with the steel toe of her boot. Although my grip slipped at times jerking the knife off of the head of the bolt, the progress was undeniable. With a few more strikes with the shoe, the first bolt became loose enough for me to grasp and pull out of its place.

Ignoring the grease on my hand, I stood and repeated the process with the other two bolts until I held the three greasy pieces of metal in my hand. Pocketing the bolts and unsheathed knife I tossed Revis' boot back which she caught with only a bit of a stumble. She hurriedly tried to lace up her boot yet while I cautiously pulled at the door's handle waiting to catch the door should it topple over, I caught her look of confusion.

Of course, she expected her knife back but I didn't see the reasoning behind it. She wouldn't be leaving our 'residence' and neither would I. The court could wait—and most likely we would not be missed.

Bane would note our absence and surely there would be a consequence awaiting our return yet I found myself apart from worrying over our fate. After all, what did it matter when we only had two months left to live?

"I-It's cold, I'm going to go take a shower," Revis murmured tightening her trench coat around her body protectively as we descended the stairs in order to reach our floor.

I said nothing but instead watched her closely. She had matured throughout the years she spent assisting me. Her foolish optimism remained but she was beginning to understand her duties and the submissive behavior that I required. Of course her malady remained a pestilence to my work. At times I was almost tempted to correctly treat her condition but I knew it would not yield the desired results.

She was unstable yet I had managed her illness well enough in the past, manipulating her to suit my needs, yet now as an executioner with a redefined personification of Death in Bane's 'liberation', she was beginning to cause more trouble than she was worth.

Before I was able to use her persona of Death as a means of security, a safeguard of my 'clients'—It was true that the frequent disputes over the fate of their bodies caused more frustration than necessary but overall there were few drawbacks.

However when living with Merrick I began to suspect that something was amiss.

It was not an abnormal conclusion considering her impulsive behavior and irrationality, yet there was something obscure yet suspicious all the same.

Revis stopped in front of the door to our 'quarters', an ironic reflection of our former residence within Merrick's estate, and with numb hands she struggled to open the door.

Revis had stopped caring for the dead.

The door opened and she strode inside while I hovered in the shadow of the doorway—watching her.

There seemed to be no explanation for the seemingly sudden change. Yes, the benefits of her disinterest were pleasing because now there was nothing that would hinder my research. However, her irrationality seemed to have a greater hold over her than before. Even while deluded her instability continued to plague her mind but in a more subdued manner; however, over the years we spent in Merrick's manor I began to suspect that she was no longer deluded.

I walked into the entryway, yet no sooner did I close and lock the door then was I seized by a sudden impulse to demolish every whisper of a secret between us.

I disliked being lied to—

My footsteps hurriedly stomped down the walkway causing Revis to glance back in confusion then widen her eyes in terror.

Without a single word I shoved Revis further into the bathroom but before I could enter as well the door slammed in my face.

Did she sense the danger and think she could hide from me?

I grasped the handle attempting to yank it open yet Revis was holding the handle fast on her end.

No doubt it was locked.

**Bam.**

I poured all of my anger into the blow knowing Revis would understand that I was not in the mood for games.

After giving her initial scream and collecting her surroundings Revis began to realize she was trapped.

"Dr. Crane!"

I would tear away the lies between us—

More thuds sounded as I began to hit the door. Unfortunately the material was sturdy enough to hold against my blows.

**Bam. Bam. Bam.**

"DR. CRANE!"

I could practically feel her body trembling through the quivering door.

"Please…_Please_, don't hurt me—"

**BAM.**

A particularly hard impact had her wailing as she gripped the door even harder—

"Dr. Cr-Crane, please!"

While I figured the lack of sight would hinder my goal, I was once more reminded of how _vocal_ Revis was and I found I wasn't disappointed in the slightest. She wouldn't lie to me anymore—Not after what I would do to her.

Her blubbering sobs could be heard as she scrambled to press herself against the door.

"Jonathan! Please!"

Hmph, as if crying out would do any good—Revis, of all people, should know that I delighted in the begging, terrified **screams** of my victims.

However, I grew tired of her rebellion, withdrawing the knife I gave her one last warning strike with my fist before I drove the knife into the door just above the handle.

"Dammit!" she cursed, more to herself than me yet the groans of the straining door had her reconsidering her actions.

"Stop!" she cried out hoarsely yet this time the noise was lower as if she had sunken to her knees.

"Dr. Crane please stop! I'll open the door!—Just please sto—"

I paused, wrenching the knife from the door knowing the damage was irreparable.

The silence created yet another wall between us, swarming with **lies.**

Yet the silence was broken as the doorknob rattled and the door achingly swung open revealing a shaken and tearstained Revis.

Striding forward, forcing her to scamper backward, I growled a command.

"Strip."

"I—" she panted in confusion, "What?!"

I tightened my grip on the knife, taking another step forward, "Take your clothes off."

Once more it was silent apart from her gasping breaths and almost unconscious whimpers.

Oh foolish Revis, I wasn't interested in the pleasures your _body_ but rather the truth your bare skin would reveal.

It seemed I did not have to repeat myself a third time because Revis began to shakily shed her trench coat—

My cold eyes watched intently as the tremors wracking her body only made the action so much more difficult. The rough material fell to the floor with a slight clang as the buckles hit the tile.

Yet Revis did not take long before untying the silken ribbon attached to the dress in order to remove the slightly bloodied blue dress.

She stood shivering in her black bra, tights, and of course those clunky boots.

Revis opened her mouth as though she would _now_ question me, "I-I—Please don't tou—"

My eyes narrowed as I darted in front of her, the knife pressing into the exposed skin of her collarbone.

The end of her plea was garbled as though her building screams were constricting her throat too tightly to pronounce her words clearly.

Come on Revis, you've surpassed so many obstacles before, not only within your mind but the obstacles produced by my intellect as well—Why should a lowly fear of exposure triumph over you now?

As I continued to hold the knife's handle only slightly slickened by the sweat of my palm, I wondered—

What turned her world upside down?

Even when we lived under Merrick's reign Revis was even more of a walking contradiction. Composed yet hanging on by a single thread, she attempted to make the best of our situation—the situation _she_ dragged us into—and expected me to do the same.

It was preposterous to assume I would simply fall into line, and so I waited testing the boundaries of our imprisonment until I was able to feed Merrick's addiction to Thrill and begin the separation of our forced union.

While I was not overtly forward with my actions, Revis shot down every mention of succeeding Merrick with anxiety and guilty swimming in her eyes.

From there her behavior grew more suspicious. She would often detach her mind from her surroundings even in the middle of a mundane task—like asking if milk goes into hot chocolate. It was obvious that she was hiding something, a dark secret that was crawling under her skin.

Soon she began her soon to be ritualistic pestering, she pleaded with me to meet in her the snowy—always snowy—woods. Distress would roll off her in waves as she stared into my unmoved expression and upon her return she seemed deadened by the cold, dragged down by a gloomy mood which did not lift as she shed her trench coat and the winter chill.

Revis' ragged breathing drew my attention to the present, to the sight of the mildly battered woman that stood before me.

There was a slight shift in her posture as though she was reading herself for something.

"Dr. Crane…?"

Her voice was butchered from panic and yelling but there was a firm determination—She was going to make a decision.

There was a faint pull on the knife's hilt—her last effort of escape before she faced her fear—before she faced _me_.

Yet when did she decide to face her delusion?

Often the return to reality was unintentional, traumatizing, and of course a rare occurrence. Despite her foolish hope of living in reality and suppressing the malicious attacks her already scarred mind faced, she had an innate weakness, one that propelled her to search for security and comfort. All of humanity possessed this _need_ yet when such needs are not met, the yearning subsides.

No matter her many attempts to distance herself from those pestering _human_ needs, she continued to yearn and yearn for the unattainable—Ironically those needs were unattainable by her own doing. By committing a self-handicap, Revis refused to venture forth and seek out her needs but instead withered away in her self-imposed prison. The only remaining option was _create_ that which was unattainable, and so her delusion was borne.

I searched the long measure of silence with my patient ear, waiting for Revis' next action once the knife refused to budge.

Yet I could only make out a faint rasp—like that of a wheezing breath.

Her appearance was deceptive, no matter the pained twist of her features something deceitful was no doubt brewing underneath.

Unconsciously I pressed the knife deeper against her skin, perhaps in a too literal attempt to draw out the truth. I wouldn't have noticed the act if not for the sudden eruption of panicked yells as Revis jerked back, unintentionally allowing the blade to slice into her skin. Without thinking I lashed out, drawing back the knife in favour of my fist.

There was a solid **whack** followed by silence.

"Ow—" Revis' loud whine gave way to a scream as she found her body sprawled facedown in the tub made slick by her own blood.

Following the sharp scream a stream of angry words escaped her:

"**Fuck** off! Damn you, Crane!"

She smacked the bloody tub as she continued in a more muted tone, "Damn you…"

For a moment I felt as though I was the parent of a small child throwing a temper-tantrum yet I forced the feeling to pass as I cautiously kneeled before the tub prepared to take whatever action was necessary.

Using the knife against her squirming body, I cut through her tights, sometimes nicking her vulnerable skin underneath the sheer fabric.

However, I forgot about her boots until a jarring kick to my head forced me to knock painfully into the toilet and sliced my own hand open.

Hissing in pain, I set the knife on the floor as my hands grabbed the nearest towel hoping to staunch the strong flow of blood.

Angrily I noted that her boot had flung off her foot and now lay beside me, the scuffed shoe looked all too innocent in light of its recent offence.

Ignoring the pain that gripped my palm intensely, I shuffled onto my knees once more reaching toward Revis shakily.

Revis too was rising to her feet but I met her halfway, clawing at her back in hopes of unclasping her bra.

Gritting her teeth, Revis tried to shake off my touch—fear now giving way to anger.

"You **fucking** bastard!" she hissed, her hands rising up to impede mine.

"Don't fight me—"

"I **HATE** you!"

I paused, taking a moment to see beyond my own bloodied hands and instead the scarlet marks they left on _her._

Revis was disheveled.

Hair mussed, face flushed, body stained in our blood, missing a boot—Yes, she was definitely out of sorts.

Yet Revis was also seething in rage for no sooner did I pause then did she tear off her other boot and throw it at my head.

Barely dodging the weighted boot I attempted to distract her.

"Really? I was under the impression you loved me."

"Shut up!" she huffed, too angry to retort properly.

Instead she charged toward me practically pushing me out of the tub, "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

In the process of catching her raised fist and attempting to keep my balance as well, I was too slow to restrain the other.

**Whack.**

My head whipped to the side as a numb sensation overcame the left side of my jaw.

I had only a glare of warning before she tackled me into the counter, bending my body back painfully as her hand tightly wrapped around my throat.

Somehow while lacking the majority of her clothes aside from shredded tights and her panties underneath that, Revis managed to radiate fury and although my glasses were turned askew and my breath growing rather scarce I found that I didn't exactly mind.

However, _that_ perspective changed as I felt the sharp prick of a knife in my side.

First widening then narrowing my eyes, I hissed, "What do you think _you're_ doing, Revis?"

She pressed the blade further into my side, causing me to grunt as the edge cut through my shirt, "I should scar you…as you have scarred me."

Just as I began to wheeze, my hands twitching by my sides uselessly under the threat of a punctured intestine, Revis sharply interrogated me, "Why did you attack me?"

"You—" my throat constricted under her grip but after gasping for air I continued, "You've been **lying** to me."

Her eyebrows furrowed, "After all these years of accusing me of paranoia now _you're_ now falling into its irrational embrace?"

Instinctively my hand twitched up in an attempt to alleviate the burning in my lungs and the tight pressure in my head but the knife jerked further into my tender skin, now drawing blood.

I squirmed as blood unpleasantly trickled down my side, staining my white button down shirt revealed underneath my suit and overcoat which had become unbuttoned in our struggle.

"R-Revis," I rasped, feeling the fingers of panic dig into my mind.

"I should make you suffer…" her eyes seemed warped by her hatred—or perhaps my brain was seriously lacking in oxygen.

Either way I clearly heard her dark sobs—or were they laughter?—as she continued.

"After everything I've sacrificed for _you_—After everything I lost—You accuse me of _lying?!_ What would I have to gain?_"_

I felt my face flush as I fought the creeping desperation for air in hopes of turning the tables—and quickly.

"That's right—Nothing."

A-Air—I needed to—

Her grip tightened cruelly before leaving me altogether.

"Get. **Out**."

At last I lay gasping greedily for the air that had been so scarce while scarcely believing her words.

Yet as I bent over, the sudden motion agitated the minor yet sensitive wound in my side causing me to suck in a haggard breath.

However, a jarring blow to my head caused me to fall into the doorway, dazed and wheezing, entirely ridding me of any residual thoughts of resisting.

Wary of the hilt of the knife once more striking me I lurched out of the bathroom entirely only aware of a door slamming and the swarming colours of the tilting hallway.

Slumping to the ground I placed my head between my knees, ignoring the sirens of pain radiating from both my head and my side, as I tried to catch my breath.

Distantly, through the ringing in my ears, I heard the water from the shower start and knew I had lost.

But how?

"_After all these years of accusing me of paranoia now _you're_ now falling into its irrational embrace?"_

Irrational?

Paranoid?

**No.**

I _knew_ she was lying to me—No matter how she tried to deny it, I _knew_ she was lying.

However, she was right on one account: I had acted too rashly.

Next time I wouldn't make that mistake.

Unconsciously a groan escaped me as my pains didn't recede but rather intensified. Once my breathing returned to normal, I left planning to wait until I was able to clean out my own wound and in the meantime allow Revis to calm herself—After all, she still had the knife.

Wincing I staggered to the main section of the luxurious office eager yet unable to wash away the blood or remove the stain it had left in its wake. Similarly I had no desire to shed so many layers in the chilled temperature of the room. Instead I removed my overcoat and laid it across its usual spot on the worn leather couch.

Suddenly I regretted living in such a cramped area with Revis. It wasn't nearly as awful when we scarcely saw one another apart from our late nights spent curled into the cushions of the couch—the promise of warmth worth more than the desire for space.

Yet now…

The sudden sound of the bathroom door opening caught my attention as Revis stepped out, dressed in her previous dress and tights uncaring if they were well beyond practical use.

Painfully aware of our last encounter, I watched her movements sharply as she went to the far end of the room, the sunlight revealing the great number of nicks and lines of scarlet down her leg—marks that _I_ inflicted.

She stood there, motionless for a moment before bending over in order to retrieve something from our dwindling food supply. Apart from a stiff loaf of bread, a few bruised fruits, and some instant coffee we had nothing to our name. Nothing but a bloated reputation in a useless city ran by a masked mercenary.

So embittered by the truth of our reality, I was taken aback as Revis returned holding out a knife—the very same knife from before—and an apple.

"Can you cut the apple for me?" Revis asked attempting to sound nonchalant but I could detect the anger in her voice. Such a request was _usually_ bound to be answered with mockery; in the past she would have obviously anticipated it—So why did she ask? Especially after our…dispute?

"Are you suddenly incapable of performing simple motor functions?" I asked smoothly ignoring the fact that my voice was deeper and my throat ached.

"No…I just—" she grew even more frustrated before harshly spitting out the remainder of her sentence, "Won't you please cut the apple for me?"

I walked up to her, closer than she was comfortable with, "I've seen you cut open all sorts of things, people even—no matter the filth, the stench, even the blood, you had no qualms with tearing it apart. Why do apples unnerve you?"

Could it be that she suffered from _Malusdomesticaphobia_, the fear of apples? No, I had seen her eat apples before and even now she had chosen one. Yet why did she _now_ choose to eat one, or rather ask me for assistance?

Softly yet stiffly as though she was choosing her words wisely, she responded, "When its cut open, it looks like tears. Everything else just bleeds but this…"

Wordlessly I took the knife from her noting its slightly bloodied blade and kneeled in order to slice the bruised apple in easy motions against the expensive wood of the coffee table.

The solid **thunk** of the knife hitting the wood filled the air.

Her eyes traced the sawing motions of the knife in my hand and the juices that escaped which indeed looked like tears as they seeped out from the quickly shrinking apple.

Yet Revis looked grim, looming over me as though she really was a reaper.

In my sneaking glances, I saw her stoic expression watch the apple as though she was witnessing an execution—No, that wasn't the right expression, an execution would have pleased her. This looked like she was watching an ugly but necessary act.

"You have no struggles when biting an apple and yet it cries all the same," I reminded her, nearly finished slicing the apple.

Her eyes flashed to me in irritation but I simply focused on my hands as she answered me, her eyes shifting back to the apple, "It's not the same. When eating an apple you're directly tearing it apart, the juices run all over your hands, your mouth is full of its fruit and with every **crunch** you're closer to finishing it. When eating an apple it's ungainly, inelegant and it truly proves your hunger.

'Yet cutting it? Yes, there's more energy devoted to it and it involves more risk, the chance of cutting yourself as well. If you cut an apple, you have to watch it closely, measure the danger of its slick surface and the force of your hand upon the knife. The apple cries as its being dissected, viewed as an object taken for gain. Your hands are clean, the tears and the wayward pieces are all discard around the core and afterward when the apple is mutilated into uniform slices, it's eaten at leisure for the convenience of its—"

"Revis," I cut off her flow of words sharply, "The apple is inanimate, it does not feel, it does not think—It serves no purpose but to nourish those around it and spread its seed."

I placed the knife on the table firmly as I slid stood, leaving the apple slices and a lonely core for Revis to do with as she pleased.

Yet she paused for a moment before asking me in that quiet voice once more, "I would have thought that out of all the apples, I would have been the most undesirable for I was also the most bitter…"

I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion as she stared at me, allowing the silence and her questioning look to unsettle me—Soon enough, it worked.

Without another word she turned around and left the office forcing me to stare at the table of apple slices, slick with its tears, and reflect.


	78. Chapter 19: Confession

**Ello! Minion here! First I'd like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers for your wonderful feedback-I can't wait to see the reactions and thoughts on this chapter! These last few chapters are all pretty intense in their own way so heads up ;) three more chapters to go!**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 19 Revis POV<strong>

"I don't see the use in that superior smirk of yours, Dr. Crane," I spoke almost without realizing what words were spilling forth—or more accurately, the effect my words would have after being spoken.

Berating blue eyes raked me over with a sort of veiled amusement that in itself covered his coiling anger, it had been awhile since our last refute—Weeks even.

Sighing I turned away, my neck aching from the effort of twisting my head around in order to properly address him. Instead I kicked my booted feet boredly like a small child would if resting atop a large desk as I was. Although I doubt a child could feel the intensity of my rage.

"You used to be one of them…one of the 'privileged'. Not elite but not a part of the common folk either."

"I see no purpose in your observations, Revis, if there _is_ any purpose behind them then 'please' address them—as you can see the court has been dismissed and I don't have time for offhand reflections."

My fingers clutched the edge of the desk, knuckles splotched with white, "I was just 'remarking' upon your luck, proposing that you not take your position so seriously—As if your ego wasn't already bloated beyond belief."

While I muttered the last bit it was quite audible in the otherwise silent 'courtroom', faint yelling could be heard from outside but that didn't matter.

A sudden **smack** of papers struck the desk yet I didn't' bother flinching at the sound.

I felt so…restless, almost _edgy_.

"Luck? I believe it was something akin to planned _profit_ that forced me from my former position and into this one."

Planned profit? Did he mean my escape almost a decade ago? Could he _never_ let something lie in the past or was all of it filed away until he needed more material to use against me?

I exhaled harshly, "Like you wouldn't have done the same!"

"No…I wouldn't have—"

I furrowed my eyebrows about to respond when suddenly his hand descended on my shoulder, his fingers curling like talons.

My feet stopped kicking.

Only a bare rustle of fabric alerted me to his intentions as he leaned closer in order to whisper into my ear, "I would have slowly wrenched control from your pale, trembling hands—began undermining your authority, degrading your every effort, until you succumbed to me…"

A shudder ran through me as my head turned, narrowed eyes searching for his as he continued, "I _wouldn't_ have relied on the altruistic intentions of a green cop."

My lips twitched into a snarl, "I'm not entirely defenseless, there's no point in—"

A cruel expression crossed his face, "No, not entirely…I believe you possess a marginal degree of competence—"

Angrily I hopped off the table and pushed his shoulders back, "You shut your mouth, you have no idea what—"

" 'you're capable of'?" he supplied mockingly then pushed me back in return, "I know the exact measure of your worth, my 'darling' Revis."

His hand cupped my cheek, nails digging into my skin.

I tried to jerk my head away yet he held fast, "You don't know shit—Let go of me!"

My hand raised in order to strike him but he easily caught it with his other hand, pulling me closer while his hand which previously clawed my face was now clutching the back of my head.

Hot prickles of panic stun my back and sides in a flash yet I put on a brave front.

"You don't know anything of what I am capable of…In fact I almost killed you—"

His eyes narrowed as he opened his mouth in order to retort yet I wrestled in his grip, almost free, "That night…five years ago, in that hotel room—" anger (or was it pain?) distorted my features, "You didn't think I was waiting in that chair because I couldn't _sleep,_ did you?"

Suddenly I was released, shoved back violently yet the physical action was not followed by emotional abuse.

So I stood, hands clenched, shoulders heaving as I continued, "I had a syringe of your lethal toxin in my sleeve…I was prepared to wait until you had fallen asleep before injecting the serum…and ending my miseries.."

I began to calm my demeanor or perhaps I was sliding into a dangerous mindset all too similar to that of Elocin's, "You would have been my favorite patient…such beautiful skin…"

I stepped forward and brushed the back of my fingers against his cheek, "…bone-structure."

I trailed my fingers up his face, hovering alongside his eyes, "and those chilling eyes…"

My nails dug into his skin yet his face did not betray his pain instead his hand raised, firmly wrapping around my wrist and holding it in the air between us.

"I would have preserved your beauty and mourned your absence…but at least I would have been **free**."

My hand curled into a fist as he wordlessly stared at me, no doubt reviewing the events in his mind.

How did it feel? To know how close you were to Death? To understand the fragility of life and the cruel truth of chance?

Interrupting his thoughts, my sharp words cut into the air with ease, "Afterward I felt regret…shame. I berated myself for my almost murder, thinking that things had changed—" I sneered at him, my fist shaking in rage, "That _you_ had changed, not only your opinion but that you had changed me…I believed that I was someone worthy of your love…someone beautiful."

A barking laugh escaped me, "What a sick joke. I would never be more than a nuisance to you…and once I had accepted that," I wrenched my hand from his grip and leaned forward, "I poisoned you."

His eyes flashed, a mix of anger and alarm clashing in those pale orbs but I continued, "What? Did you think that the late 'Monsieur' had _kidnapped_ me? I willingly left Gotham, momentarily left you, so that I would have this—"

I placed my hand over his heart, feeling both his flinch and the frenzied beating that he had outwardly masked, "I wanted your heart…and I would do anything to possess it."

I removed my hand and took a few steps back, "All I wanted was for you to love me…Is that really so difficult to understand? Ten years, Jonathan…I pursued you for _ten_ _years_ and you still reject me?!"

A broken laughter shook my shoulders, "You're truly impossible. Even when I was slipping refined compounds of pheromones and chemicals into your morning coffee, your evening wine, your food, whatever was available that day…Even after all my efforts you remained untouched…unmoved…and I remained unloved.

'Monsieur instructed me further, forcing me to accept that my very basis of affection was deeply flawed. I learned that my intentions were selfish, vain even, and I didn't deserve any sweeter reception than the poison I was so accustomed to receiving…So _I_ changed, I moulded my life around your needs, suppressed every impulse that would wear on you and waited for a change."

My voice began to crack yet I spoke regardless of the scratchy pain, "I would wait in those **damned** woods for you, hoping that once, just _once_, you would follow me so that I could _stop_ the lying, the _guilt_ of spending my nights in your arms hearing not the steady thump of the heart I desired but the maddening slosh of _drugged_ blood, poisoning every fibre of the man I love…"

I cleared my throat, a great surge of energy rising up against my emotional restraint, "Then _Bane_ appeared and ripped you even farther from my weak grasp. For three years I longed to reach you, to touch you—soothe you—but you would not be consoled, you only wished for a catalyst which you could use to expel your frustration, your anger, and even if you would not admit it—your _fear_.

'I had thought when you left, sedating me in parting, that you _did_ care and so I waited devoutly; holding onto that yellow rose as though it had the power to hasten your return…It wasn't until later, when that hope had withered that I once more waited in the woods until Bane found me.

'Upon returning to you I was overwhelmed by longing and fear. I had no idea the effects withdrawal would have but I also did not care. It was then upon being 'reunited' that I realized withdrawal had the same effect as intoxication—absolutely nothing.

'So I watched as you writhed under Bane's control, I watched and I _enjoyed_ it. You enjoyed it as well—the power your submission brought you, the _fear_ you instilled into the 'defendants', all the while ignoring the impending death sentence above your own head…but that's all come to an end now, hasn't it?"

I smiled bitterly at his hardened, calculating expression (for even now he was unmoved) and with sure movements unsheathed my knife. Finally shattering that controlled expression of his as the sight of the bare blade caused alarm (and surely a sickly feeling of déjà vu) to flare up—even briefly—I neared him, placing the sharp point against his beating heart.

"For so long I longed for this…the opportunity to carve your heart from your icy chest and cradle it in my hands…" I pressed the point of the knife deeper into this shirt, causing his expression to shift with discomfort yet after mockingly tracing the thumping organ, I turned the knife around so that he held the blade which was now pointed to my own heart.

I was sick of our games; I would end them now.

"When I was first brought here I was called out on trial…yet the court was dismissed before the judgment could begin. Now after hearing my confession of guilt I must ask Jonathan—What will it be…'Death? Or Exile?"

My eyes were dry, my heart was calm—I was prepared to meet my own death when I heard him respond hoarsely as he set the knife aside, "I dismissed the court for—"

I frowned, "Jonathan—"

"Leave!" he barked.

I bitterly glared at him as I slowly backed away, my heart breaking despite my firm resolution to become indifferent, "So it's 'Exile' them?"

Unable to stay in the same room with him, I turned around headed for the large doors while trying to erase his image from my mind and the hollow ache spreading throughout my body.

The door opened with ease despite the roaring wind that awaited me outside.

I didn't mind though, I wanted to embrace the chill—Not to be numb, no I had endured enough of that, but to be cold…perhaps even as cold as _him_.

Anything to erase myself as the hollow ache, his very own poison, would never leave my system—Anything to erase the image of his hunched shoulders and trembling arms supporting his body over the desk as he bowed his head. Anything to make this end, this _exile_, any easier.

Exile…

It's only fitting really, after all how does one kill Death? An instrument of Death, a mere executioner—Yes, she's quite easy to kill but Death itself? No that would never die.

_That is not death which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons the death may die._

What strange aeons indeed…Although even now, in perhaps the strangest times ever, Death could only be _exiled_ from its immortality. Everyone possessed the power of Death and everyone would one day die. Death was immortal its tools were not—the power within the tools, that of Death would leave but Death itself would never die.

Exile…

I was no stranger to the traditional sentence of exile, the deceptively hopeful option although I understood my exile to be different. At least on the surface, for with each step I took I could hear the ice cracking, the muffled groaning that lay just below the frozen surface, and I knew like those who were so proud even when walking to their end that I would not crawl. Instead I would meet the paralyzing water and drown; down, down, down I would go never to float up again.

I was living on borrowed time, uncertain of which step would be my last which shiver would predict my end—because surely I could never escape my insanity.

Exile…

That was my sentence and so that foolish, bitter, lovestruck Revis walked on hearing the groans and feeling the shifting ice, fearing the step that would plunge her into the icy embrace of Elocin—of my almost me.

Exile…

Escape from the moon's punishing light, so illuminant yet so empty—the darkness was safer, the darkness could provide comfort.

Yet which would give first? Would the ice crack? Would the last candle of sanity blow out? Would all the struggle end?

I looked up at the nighttime sky, my breath filling the space before me with a comforting puff of crystalizing air.

Did it matter?

Exile…

I smiled and continued to walk briskly, knowing the poison would soon be sucked out. It didn't matter where I wandered in Gotham's freezing streets because _this_, the sentence of _Exile_, was now my home.

I learned the truth of Death as I spoke to Isabella, I spent hours talking even when my voice grew as hoarse as hers. It was then that I had my prized revelation.

Death didn't care.

Before I had thought that statement was only directed toward the living because in truth Death discriminated against no one, but then I learned that Death didn't care—not even for the dead.

I had mistaken Death as the overseer of the deceased, some black winged guardian of burial and peace yet just as I could no longer bear the name 'Libitina' I could also no longer deceive myself.

Death was brutal, aggressive, descending in between loud cries of agony only to silence its victims. Death was waiting, subtly watching for the time to stealthily slide onto beds of the ill and old smothering their faint pulse of life. Death was a present force, as crushing as stone and as subtle as air.

Only the living could mourn, only the living could give remembrance to the deceased because Death did not care.

Yet _I_ cared…I spent years of my life _caring_—and for what?

In the end was I really so different from _her_?

Elocin.

She too cared, she held vigilant watch over the deceased's gravesite, mourning their life yet not regretting their _Death_.

She too was an instrument of Death…and although she is now only a memory of a past delusion she still is me.

Elocin…Libitina…Death…Revis…Nicole.

So many titles and yet were any of them different from one another?

Nicole…

The shy, sensitive bookworm—ease to please; easy to deceive. Her many woes created her inner reflection: Elocin.

Elocin…

A bittersweet fragment of the past—a deadly opponent who possessed a deadened fate.

It had seemed as though Elocin was a gone—gone like them all, all of them except _Merizah_. Merizah was different…he was special. And so Elocin lived on in secret, an ever looming presence.

Nicole tried to live for awhile but she could hardly be described as alive—Too many people had killed her and so _Revis_ took her place.

Revis was stronger, frightened yet constantly _fighting_ for her sanity knowing all too well the danger of Elocin and the cautionary tale of Nicole who had her innocence stolen.

However Revis wasn't as well equipped as she thought and so when her haven was threatened by her Boss and Isabella, Death emerged.

A righteous release, a powerful protector, Death could be everything Revis could not while still refraining from the tainted threat of Elocin.

Libitina sprouted for awhile more of a pseudonym than an identity but it was a subdued side of Death, the only outlet available with Revis wanted and Death too brazen to use in hiding.

However as _Dr. Crane_ returned, terrorizing me once more Revis and Death were interchangeable the only difference being that Death didn't _fear_ and most certainly didn't **love** and no matter how much Revis fought (and oh she fought so hard) she _did_ love him.

In the end Revis won, too consumed by love to accurately portray her true role of Death yet still too weak to keep her insanity, her past, _Elocin_, at bay. Death continued to usurp her control sometimes unintentionally serving _him_ yet Death was unfairly used, often slighted in favour of Dr. Crane. Soon it grew to the point all three sides, titles representing conflicting desires, threatened to tear their core apart.

Death…Revis…Elocin…

Revis…Elocin…Death….

Elocin…Death…Revis…

Three different titles all describing one woman: me.

Revis would have to die…Her love was a poison that would kill everything she ever fought to defend. Now there were two names left to define me: Death and Elocin.

Elocin bore the terrors of my past, a reminder of a time when I was manipulated and calling out for help. In my delusion, I believed Elocin to be convicted of her crimes but also innocent; she wasn't evil, she was forced to do evil deeds.

It seemed I had even forgotten that she was not guilty.

Yes, her hands were stained with gore both psychic and physical in nature. Yes, she often fell into patterns of sadism and cruelty in order to find enjoyment lest she allow her innermost self to die in face of the expectations set out before her. Yes, she would mourn the life of her victims allowing her grief to be freed in order to not lose her humanity even if she herself was by genetics inhuman.

But was she someone to fear?

In the beginning Elocin was merely the reverse of Nicole, a reflection of a pained child's imagination. When I became deluded I only believed to be inhuman and have access to magical rituals used to calm emotions, sharpen intellectual capabilities, and strengthen resolutions—It wasn't until _Lucius_ had preyed on my vulnerable state, mutating my delusion into something far more dangerous than anything my musings could attempt.

Then came the worries of political parties, the arguments, the consuming worry and fear, the dread of nightfall, threats from all sides, pleading with Lucius to teach me to fight, struggling to control my violent desires, the constant flashbacks, disturbing visions into the future, rising tensions, extreme anxiety, too many nights spent frozen in paranoia, too many tears shed in grief of lost loved ones, too many 'accidents' resulting bruises and dark bite marks, too much blood shed in maddened episodes or in an altruistic offerings to Lucius who accepted eagerly his dark eyes boring into mine with an almost animalistic intensity—

I closed my eyes, breathing heavily yet uncaring if I ran into anyone or anything.

Even now, knowing he was ruined—for far longer than I had ever been in that state of delirium—I couldn't keep the nightmares at bay.

Dr. Crane knew of course, it was near impossible to hide these things from a trained psychiatrist—even a trained psychiatrist who did nothing to help me but instead tormented me further.

How many nights did I awake, a scream in the back of throat, only to meet his cold eyes staring at me emotionlessly? If only he had a pen and paper we could be back in Arkham, his blank expression masking his analyzing thoughts.

But that was the past…and this—

A strangled holler erupted from the nearing mouth of an alleyway before the slummed occupants fled out in a rush.

A blonde man ran by and if he wasn't coated in dirt and shouting for me to flee I might have asked him what he was running from. Yet for a moment he paused, almost has if he recognized me—His blue eyes were focused on me, not at all overwhelmed by the panic of the situation as a regular citizen might have been.

I found myself wondering if he knew who I was….Maybe he could tell me once he figured it out.

Yet all too soon a shout, more feminine than the first, called out and a woman clutching what seemed to be a scared nine year old girl, awkwardly ran from the alley.

"Help!" she yelled, gasping desperately, "I can't carry her for much longer!"

My eyes widened in recognition as I stood frozen in the street.

I-It had been nine years since I've seen them. My lips parted so as to speak although what words I would say I didn't know however that was the unforgettable sight of Barry and Kelly—that girl must have been the child she was pregnant with and now—

"Paul! Help me carry her!"

The man gave me a wary look before helping the woman as they both ran past me not so much as a warning was spared in my direction.

Yet the man did tell me what I wanted—I saw my name in his eyes: monster.

A faint smile lifted my face in a rare sight of levity—I guess I had known who I was all along. Elocin…Death…It didn't matter what my name was because I would always be a monster.

Feeling lighter than before, I continued on my way prepared to pass the mouth of the alleyway no matter the apparent threat lurking within; however when another rancid stench followed by an unearthly shriek filled the air, I looked to my left the smile still on my face I found myself staring at a creature that seemed to have lived in the gutters all this time.

His skin was stained with mud, only sharp lines presumably from fingers that were dragged across his face showed a hint of pale yet dirtied skin. Similarly his clothes were ragged, most likely hanging onto him by the layers of filth coating his skin yet even with the shredded fabric of what seemed to be a jumpsuit hanging off of him.

Black(?) hair so overgrown and untamed that the curls were visibly filled with bugs and bits of garbage passed his shoulders and trailing partway across his arms. His eyes were wild, bloodshot and darting around with unrestrained panic. In order to match, his teeth was bared like an animal, the bone stained a rotten yellow and some bits were covered in grime whereas others were missing altogether.

It wasn't until he swiped his arm toward me, mud scraped off in certain areas in the outline of teeth that I understood he had bitten himself many times.

He wasn't even human anymore—How pitiful.

I scoffed already pushing his meager existence from my mind when he spoke in in a broken voice, garbled words managing to have a grating quality.

"Ni-Nicol-e—"

My face dropped in an instant as I was once more confronted with the _true_ monster that stalked me through the years until even my dreams were not safe from him.

True to Dr. Crane's word his mind was destroyed, lost to absolute terror, yet as I had known all these years he was still alive…and just as I had feared—he hadn't forgotten.

Numbly I stared into Lucius' animalistic eyes, the dark intensity all too familiar, as I realized it wasn't only my sanity that I could not escape but my past as well.

Snarling he lunged toward my throat.


	79. Chapter 20: Ruined

**Ello! Minion here! First I'd like to thank all of you lovely readers and reviewers for your wonderful support and feedback! This chapters a bit intense so take it as a lovely treat ;) **

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 20<strong>

His body slammed into mine throwing me to the ground with the force of his attack. Dirtied yet sharp nails gripped my arms as his teeth (or what remained of the yellow bone) gnashed angrily by my ear before sinking into my throat.

The beginning of a scream escaped my mouth before the pain registered in my brain cutting off the sound as my breath left me. In an oxygen deprived panic the sounds of the world seemed to dim apart from the snarls and scraping noises surrounding us. Everything seemed to fade: colours, scents, noise—

Feeling…

No! I needed help!

D-Dr. Crane, he was the only one able to defeat Lucius before—I needed him to do it again!

I sucked in a ragged breath gaining clarity in tandem with oxygen.

Fuck!

My neck felt as though it was on fire with waves of hot pain washing over my skin and partially constricting my breath. Although my hands were squished between our bodies facing palm up I couldn't gain leverage.

Damn him!

My face crumpled in an expression of desperation and despair as I fought not only him but myself.

I could feel the numbing tendrils of thought consuming me.

Rage was so exhausting; struggling was practically futile. There was no point in trying—was there?

No.

My strength was weakening, his body seemed to grow heavier as my head lolled to the side giving more skin to the teeth that pinned me to the ground; I began to envision the snow.

Yet a shift in his bite stained the fresh powder with **blood.**

Red.

Red everywhere.

Molten anger filled my blood, my red, red blood.

Growling myself with strength I did not understand, I did not push him off but instead rolled us over.

I exhaled raggedly as my pain intensified—his teeth did not release me and for a moment I feared his jaw had locked in place but those thoughts soon fled as I awkwardly sought to do as much damage as possible with my neck pinned in place.

Nails, fists, palms, elbows, knees—any portion of my body that could provide me with an added edge was put to use; however, it accomplished nothing.

Dammit, if only I had my knife—

A strangled scream tore from my throat as Lucius began to pull on my neck like a dog tearing a toy to pieces.

Panicked tears sprang to my eyes as my hands began to shake but by some unknown mercy he released his hold on my neck.

If anything the pain was now greater.

My body slumped over his writhing one as my shoulders shook with sobs; my face was soon pressed into the grimy cement as hoarse cries echoed in the alleyway complimented by his bestial snarls.

My eyes opened and closed without reason, nothing seemed to lessen the pain; shaking fingers stumbled their way to my throat with the intent to tentatively prod the abused flesh but the lightest pressure caused an even greater agony. I did not try to feel the wound again and I did not have the chance for Lucius managed to buck me off of him.

My body rolled wildly to the alley wall where my back smacked into coarse stone. My head felt rattled but I knew I had to move. Struggling to find my bearings amidst the pain, I was once more overcome by a blur of weight, filth, and sound.

Yet as I was attacked, pressed unforgivingly into the dirty muck that accumulated in the edges of the wall, something inside of me **snapped.**

I would **not** be defeated.

I would **not** be desecrated.

I would **not **be a **victim**.

Yelling in rage, feeling as though the dark emotion was rolling from my body in putrid waves of **hatred**, I pushed him back and began to rain down blows upon his squirming, grunting body.

His face was already marred by mud and an animalistic fury but I too marred it with _my_ feelings.

**WHACK!**

For all the tears I shed…

**WHACK!**

For all the nights I shook with fear…

**WHACK!**

For all the suffering he caused—

"RRAGH!"

A cry of rage and a wail of despair seemed to intertwine as I continued, now slamming his hands down on the cement and screaming into his face.

I was beyond words—too choked with emotion to do anything but **scream.**

Surely at this point I was no more human than him but I was beyond caring.

Tossing his spasming hands together, above his head, I gripped his face in an iron clasp, my nails digging into his skin, wedging in between the contours of his jaw and invoking a terrible pain.

"YOU DID THIS TO ME!"

So consumed by my emotion I felt as though every inch of me was **red** with vengeance, a blind fury that would not be **silenced.**

No…I had been silent for _far_ too long.

Sobs of despair shook me as I slumped over him, my tears falling into his eyes and mouth, down his cheek, into his hair as my sweating hands refused to let go.

"I—I—"

Ragged breaths grazed my throat but clarity would not come.

I writhed atop him, letting out a scream of agony—

"I LOVED YOU!"

Chest heaving, I released his hands in order to better slam my fists down on his chest:

**THUD.**

Every affectionate lie…

**THUD.**

Every deceitful kiss…

**THUD.**

Every shattered dream…

"I FUCKING **LOVED** YOU!"

I paused above him, snot dripping down my face in long strings of mucus as I rocked in anguish.

"No!"

Weakly my fists beat into his face, made slick by the various bodily excretions between us.

"NO!"

His own hands raised to my shoulders, reaching for my neck in order to restrain me.

"**NO!"**

My face twisted into a bestial snarl of my own as I raised my hands before descending down onto his collarbone so as to slip forward and grasp his knobby neck.

How fucking DARE HE?!

Throttling him I gave no mind to the sharp nails that tore into my hand and face, attempting to reverse our roles—

No…This time **I** would be the victor.

Fed up I rose, swaying on shaking legs—then I used those shaky legs to sharply stomp on him.

**THUNK.**

**THUNK.**

**THUNK.**

**THUNK.**

**THUNK.**

I kicked his aching and contorting body to the other side of the alley, appreciating his beaten appearance before I dived down once more and properly restrained him: holding his boney elbows in strong hold while my knee and the weight of my body bored into his spine and my legs pinned his own.

"I fucking **HATE** you!"

**CRACK!**

My free hand grasped his disgustingly matted hair, whipping his head back before slamming it down into the grimy cement.

"YOU **RUINED** ME!"

**CRACK!**

A small thought arose in my mind: I might kill him—but that thought was soon discarded. I didn't fucking care.

"**RUINED ME!"**

**CRACK****!**

It was silent.

My hold crumpled as I panted, my body trembling with fading adrenaline—

I—He—No…

He couldn't be dead.

A scathing bolt of hatred tore through me—

YES! He deserved to die—That filthy bastard **ruined** me! It's only fair he died…

Yet a teary pang of loss also wormed its way into my heart—

NO! He…He couldn't be dead! I-I wasn't done—I'm not fixed!

Ruined.

Everything was fucking ruined.

A pitiful whine filled the air—

Yet it did not come from me.

Gazing down at the body lying prone beneath me, I clumsily scrambled away my eyes wide as I started at the wretched _thing_ keening without restraint.

Fear shot through me, panic poked jagged holes into my logic—

I—What had I done?

Pained eyes, a grey so dark they seemed black, stared at me with pure sorrow.

I could feel my chest heaving, my raw throat eagerly sucking down air, but I did not feel as though I could breathe with that stare pressing so heavily into me—**burning **me.

I could not tear my gaze away from those eyes—the only recognizable part of the tyrant who had dominated my life. His face—

I turned my head, not having enough energy to fully lean over as I vomited.

The rank smell of my own bile made my head swim as I stared through watery eyes at _him_ just barely registering that I was partially covered in my own vomit. Even as the wet chunks of my puke began to cool I did not care.

Those eyes.

Weakly I smeared dirt and who knows what else across my face as I sought to wipe away part of the bile staining my chin.

Those fucking eyes.

Why wouldn't they close?! How dare they **judge** me! I was the victim here! Not him!

Dammit!

"STOP IT!"

I hollered hoarsely, the fresh acid had only agitated my throat further.

"What?! I didn't fucking do anything."

Why was I pleading with those damnable eyes? He should be begging _me_ for mercy!

WHY WOULDN'T THEY FUCKING CLOSE?!

"STOP! STOP! **STOP IT!**"

I ducked my head into my arms, sobbing dry tears as I felt my fear consume me—

Those fucking eyes!

I didn't want to move.

I didn't want to breathe.

I didn't want to see.

It became almost unbearable, to be curled into myself; my heart acting like a brazen siren to the injuries dealt tonight.

Why did I feel so guilty?

I coughed, hiccupping slightly as I tried to control my breathing and soothe my abused throat from the harsh breaths I was taking—but the smell of vomit was too suffocating.

I whipped my head up harshly, half expecting his leering form to be towering over me poised to attack—but I was only met with the darkness in the alleyway and a single pool of light from the street lamp illuminating the shadows of my shoes and the still form of Lucius.

His eyes were closed.

Oh, now he closed them! Just when I was—

His eyes were closed.

I clenched my jaw as my brow twisted into a pained expression—Of all the times to…

The words died in my mind as I stared at him blankly.

Those fucking eyes—

Were no more.

When exactly my body began to rock I didn't know but once I noticed the motion I made no inclination to stop.

W-Was it over?

Despite my gnawing curiosity, I did not move from my position against the alley wall.

It _was_ over.

Over.

All of it.

Gone—just gone.

Empty…

I could feel my face trembling; soon my body followed it in spasming tremors.

So ugly…This ugly, ugly mess was finally over.

My body continued to jerk despite the protests of my many wounds—Now the pain came crashing down on me.

Every ache from my toe to my head seemed to scream loudly for attention—but even the dangerously severe wound on my throat could not compete with the pain emitting from my chest…from my broken fucking heart.

If it was over—Why did I still feel so trapped? Why was I still mourning? Why was I still so fucking angry?!

My hands lashed out, smacking the pavement below me and yet it made no difference—I only dirtied my hands even more, adding vomit to my list of bodily excretions I was coated with.

WHY?!

Reaching up to my aching chest I felt the once soothing texture of my—no, _his_ necklace. My hand tightened around it smearing it with filth as I ripped the offending object from my neck and threw it far to my right near Lucius.

There I was done with both of them—even though their imprint remained, scarring my body…my mind.

I ran my filthy hands through my sweaty hair, uncaring of the chunks of bile that fell from a few strands—In fact the smell only triggered a violent retching from deep within my body.

Thankfully I was able to lean forward and expel the remaining bile in my stomach in the empty pavement in front of me but I continued to dry heave long after my arms were shaking too much to safely support me and my eyes were watering too much to clearly see.

Staggering away on drunken legs, I journeyed deeper into the alleyway, seeking to drown myself in the darkness and chill of Gotham's night.

Why wasn't it going away?

I expected the dark **filth** to slide off my skin the moment he stopped breathing but instead it _lingered_ permeating my skin and the air around me with its stench until there was no escaping it.

Why was it still here?

I slammed my scraped and mucked up hands against the wall, sobbing harshly into the cool bricks as I tore my mind to pieces.

WHY WOULDN'T IT GO AWAY?!

I killed him! It's over now—IT'S FUCKING OVER!

Crumpling down, my knees sharply hit the pavement below me—Why won't it leave me?

I slayed the monster, I overcame my abuser—so why was I still a victim?

Lucius was a beast, a terrible monster—

And so was I.

What?! No—

But it was true, wasn't it?

I was a monster; I saw it reflected in the eyes of others.

I wasn't supposed to feel better because I was just as cruel as he—

No, he **abused** me. He **raped** me.

And I **killed** him.

That was justice, right? It was righteous…

So then why was I feeling guilty?

Monsters didn't feel guilty—and neither did Death.

But _I_ did.


	80. Chapter 21: Synthetic

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you lovely readers and reviewers for your support and feedback! I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 21 Dr. Crane POV<strong>

I stood there, hunched over on shaking arms for what seemed to be hours but by the pale face of the cracked clock it was only twenty minutes.

Even as my eyes clenched shut I could not forget the brazen image of Revis attacking me with pointed words. She seemed distorted—Yet perhaps her honesty merely _revealed_ her once disguised countenance so the guise seemed to be truth and the truth a dread mockery of a guise.

My firsts shook, no doubt my knuckles had turned bone white but I did not open my eyes again to check.

S-She—

My chest began heaving in disbelief of the situation, sweat prickled at my scalp then beaded at my forehead; I was losing control.

No, I had already lost control—I practically relinquished it the moment I became blinded by Revis, by her cunning.

My fist slammed down against the desk creating a sure sound amidst the courtroom filled with the ugly grunts and stifled shouts of a depraved man.

I wrenched my eyes open feeling a burning sensation overcome my body—but I could not see for the dammed _tears_ that threatened my composure.

Choking on my hatred and pain, I sunk back down to my lofty chair, my empty throne.

Head downcast, cradled roughly in my frigid and spindly fingers, I accepted the truth.

Revis had _poisoned_ me. She had deceived me—for years!

These past years, years I had spent slaving over the damned anesthesia that Bane requested were spend medicated, **poisoned**, by the likes of my assistant!

Was everything in those years synthetic—all a chemically induced lie?!

Apparently I _was_ deluded enough to give Revis a modium of trust—the benefit of the doubt.

_What was a syringe full of lethal toxin doing on the floor?_

_ Immediately, my eyes traveled to the sleeping form of Revis but I quickly discarded the notion. She lacked the cunning and will to _think_ of leaving me let alone hold thoughts of _killing_ me!_

I _foolishly_ believed that I had found a _true_ compromise between our desires—

_I groaned, allowing my hand pull her tightly against my body._

_ What was so enticing about guava lip gloss?_

_ Yet as she returned my touches, eagerly and lustily, I soon forgot everything._

_ My heart pounded._

_ My breath was scarce—_

That _Revis_ was somehow a tamed madwoman—

_"Aren't those red tulips lovely?" she asked in a voice of wonder. _

_ I cleared my throat before breathing into her ear, "I believe those are red flags, Revis. Perhaps marking off the area for the gardener."_

_ She froze before leaning forward so as to better view them..._

_ "Are you feeling alright, Revis?" I asked in a concerned tone, my body shifting to face her._

_ "Yes, there's probably just a smudge on my glasses," she murmured as her eyes never left the flowers, not even when she reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out her glasses cloth._

_I was silent noting the shaking of her hands as she cleaned the spotless lenses._

That _I _had somehow been tamed as well—

_It was morning yet neither of us left the safety of the bed._

_ We didn't sleep until the early hours of the morning for there was always a new distraction to occupy our attention._

_ Yet currently, Revis was tracing the scars on my back; I knew some were deep and coloured while others were softer in texture and resembling claws of the crows that—_

_ I tensed my back and tightened my grip across her forearm beside me as her touch awakened a horrible memory._

_ Yet she continued to stroke the abused skin, as she was determined to sew feelings of love and adoration into the marks—as if that meager act could tether me to her._

_ Yet when my grip tightened painfully she stopped and instead tenderly kissed the scar which caused the violent reaction before leaving the warmth of the bed._

_ I watched her, spearing every inch of exposed flesh marked by our activities, by_ me_, until she pulled the silky robe off the closet door and obscured her flesh from my view._

But I was **wrong.**

A hot shame flooded me—

How could I have been so foolish? So blind?

No, not blind—For I _had_ suspected that Revis was deceiving me and she had the gall to deny it!

_You accuse me of _lying_?! What would I have to gain?"_

"_That's right—Nothing."_

Even with her many maladies, Revis was not too irrational to forego self-interest, after all it was one of humanity's most primal traits.

"_For so long I longed for this…the opportunity to carve your heart from your icy chest and cradle it in my hands…"_

Her motives were so brazenly apparent that I did not take heed of them.

Then that _bastard_ Merrick played upon Revis' reckless desires casting _me_ in chains of servitude.

"_Revis is not an issue for we have already reached an agreement. She has accepted a long-term contract which entitles both of you a life of leisure, primary trade with myself, and unlimited resources for your work."_

And once more Revis used that to her advantage, to suit her own gain.

"_Here we have no want of money, no want of food, no want of anything. You may study in the libraries, concoct new toxins with an unrestricted supply of chemicals—anything you want to do, you can and with no worry of where you will sleep, what you will eat, and if you'll be free another day. Please Dr. Crane…be reasonable."_

And I believed her.

I took deep gasping breaths before raising my head and running my fingers through my greasy hair.

My glasses were smudged but I didn't bother cleaning them—my sight was already skewed.

Although jaded, I began to review my options; emotions were futile, only actions could provide me with a suitable solution.

I had quite a few plans in spite of my desolate situation.

If Revis and I were to permanently part ways then I could more easily overthrow Bane and escape Gotham. However, the chances that Revis would be able to survive on her own in a 'liberated' and restless Gotham were slim. Soon she would return—After all, she was emotionally volatile and weaponless. If I were quick to act she would return to an empty courtroom and an absent 'lover'.

Or…

I could wait until she returned and kill her. The thought had passed through my mind on numerous occasions but some fleeting idea or urgent event always stilled my hand from giving her that fatal dose…or plunging her knife into her own selfish little heart. Those who had humiliated me in the past did not live long afterward—Why should _Revis_ be an exception?

I had begun to relax around her, I had grown lazy and content—that was a mistake I _would not_ make again.

My gut clenched uncomfortably as I contemplated Revis' murder.

Heart pounding with anxious feelings, I took deep breaths to steady my mind.

Why did the thought of Revis' death…unsettle me?

My mind flashed to that dammed potion of hers—Was it still in effect?

I could clearly remember the beginning months in Merrick's manor—the frenzied lust that pushed me to indulge in Revis' offer of pleasure…but the months after that when Revis supposedly perfected her _poison_, those details were not so clear.

When did the change occur? For how long would it last?

Or perhaps an even better question should first be addressed: Was Revis capable of creating a potent 'love potion'?

Her skills in chemistry were mediocre at first; she was more familiar with the specialized formulas used to create _embalming_ fluid than anything else. As my assistant, she was witness to the greater power of _my_ chemicals and the complex formulae involved. After awhile she began to thoroughly understand my work.

Yet could she apply such effort and understanding to an obscure hoax that has baffled humanity for centuries?

The task was daunting, the consequences grim—Had she really succeeded?

Perhaps with the assistance of Merrick—

No, he was useless as well; merely a master manipulator and man of business. I doubted that he could find a suitable chemist in time—that would require too much money and effort to secure the flimsy desires of a madwoman.

At best Revis had constructed a hasty research toward the subject and created possible _theories_; how she chose the final theory and tested it (if at all) was beyond me.

A streak of unease ran through me—She could have killed me…not with the assumed 'regalia' of Death or some other nonsense, but instead with the vain intentions to have me _love_ her.

Dammit!

My fist once more met the hard surface of the desk.

If only I had paid greater attention to the madness flourishing within her mind _then_ I might have prevented this!

I _was_ blinded; not by rose tinted glasses but by the sickly green tinted lenses of greed. So consumed in ensuring a profit, I neglected the basic needs of Revis. And just like any needy pet or young child, when left alone chaos ensued.

By pure luck I had survived Revis' fanciful 'love potion' with no noticeable harm but I could not allow her to attempt another harebrained scheme.

'Death or Exile?'

How fitting a question.

Revis believed that I had sentenced her to exile—a foolish misconception but perhaps not unwelcome.

If I left soon I could poison Bane as I had planned—the highly toxic dose of fear toxin would easily replace Bane's personalized anesthetics. He was due for a change and even with a little more than a week before the bomb detonated he would not wish to spend his final hours in the agonizing grip of pain. After all, underneath his mask and muscle, he was human.

Another human trait he possessed was quite unfortunate for him.

In the beginning his anesthetic was thoroughly tested among others before being approved for Bane's consumption. However, after that time, he longer tested his medicine on others. He would have no reason to do so now—paranoia did not possess him; he was far too sure of his persuasion, his power

It was difficult to gain access to the chemicals necessary for the toxin—Especially with Bane's men everywhere and the all too frequent 'observations' conducted by Bane himself. Even so I had succeeded.

Yet perhaps synthesizing the chemicals was a more difficult task for then _Revis_ posed a threat. Much as she did not confide in me the secret arrangements between Merrick and herself—I gritted my teeth—I did not confide in her my plans to overthrow Bane. And so her mood grew restless and her actions reckless as she sought to secure my heart—Ha! What a petty ideal. It was a wise decision to keep her in the dark…yet would it truly be so terrible to enlighten her now?

In the past I disregarded her follies in order to fully manipulate her mind with my iron control yet outside of the asylums (both the original Arkham then my own creation) I reversed my ideologies and instead allowed, even encouraged, her follies of 'love' and 'Death' in order to manipulate her mind—my iron control was forgotten in order to use a more subtle approach.

Yet without our defined boundaries the rest of our structured relationship fell to pieces and with it our sanity.

I was too close to Revis—I was becoming more vulnerable with each day that passed yet I wondered if we were truly ruined?

Within the asylum(s) our relationship was strictly defined yet not muted in any way; the power was distributed appropriately and our relationship's dynamics functioned accordingly.

But was it possible to reinstate that balance?

Did I even want to?

Over the years Revis had been loyal, selfless even, in her actions toward me—even now her betrayal stemmed from her unrestrained mind. If I were to reprehend her as she deserved and _strictly_ enforce my iron control, her reckless behavior would once more be in check.

I didn't want to _cure _her; such a feat would take _years_ of intensive psychotherapy. Revis was subjected to deeply traumatizing abuse which was then repeated as she grew older. If I revealed the true depth of their crimes I would also reveal _my_ own abuse rendering my preferred (and successful) tactics useless.

No, I would not cure Revis—I would instead retraumatize her until she disassociated to the cold mortician she was when we had first met. Revis would be closely monitored to ensure her mind was numbed at all times. Her times of expression would be reserved for future victims and perhaps even sexual encounters—Should the need arrive.

The basis of her malady lied in control—all trauma victims suffered from the _need_ to control not only themselves but others: stability, rationalization, intellectualization, each was a prized virtue to victims. If the traumatized victims remained untreated they would often seek out _new_ abusers subconsciously. They craved order, even tyrannical order from an abuser. I would provide for Revis the very stability she required.

Yet I would have to act quickly—If I were to leave Revis unattended for too long she could easily wind up dead before I would be able to locate her.

However, none of that would matter if I didn't first poison Bane—His threat of leaving the detonator among a citizen was an obvious ruse to distract the public and add security to himself as well. If his death would not stop the island from exploding then fewer people would attempt to assassinate him.

Bane would seek me out in a few days in order to correctly administer his anesthetic. The process normally took a few minutes and was relatively simple but Bane insisted that _I _be the one to administrate his medicine.

I doubted this action was more than an elaborate reminder of my place and of course, _his_ power.

Yet could Revis stay alive that long? I needed her to be quiet and compliant should she escape with me yet I had no idea how long it would take to properly condition her—even for the short duration of a week.

Once more the aching thought consumed my mind: did I _need_ to save her?

Tiredly, I leaned back in my chair gazing up to the elaborately decorated ceiling—no one had yet thought it worth the effort to desecrate it. It seemed almost shocking, _explicit_ even, to see such purity amid the surrounding chaos.

I frowned.

Would it be possible for Revis to follow my instructions if I were to retrieve her?

No.

It was foolish to give her _any_ expectations higher than her mental **disease.** Besides…she **lied** to me, **humiliated** me; she deserved to **suffer.**

Standing swiftly I strode down the stairwell of the courtroom eager to be on my way.

First I would deal with Revis then I would poison Bane—I could only hope that I had time to do both.

…

Three times before I had been forced to hunt Revis: the first time was a year after she betrayed me to the authorities, the second time was during my short absence before the meeting in the Lux Atlantic, and the third time she had lead me to Merrick's manor a week after her botched 'dinner'.

Of course now the effort of tracking her was greatly diminished with the assistance of the GPS inside of her necklace. My foresight was clearly advantageous for while I did not anticipate Revis fleeing again, I was not so foolish as to believe the possibility would never occur.

No—I was only foolish enough to _believe_ that she was worth trusting.

My jaw began to ache with the force of my teeth grinding.

Thankfully I kept the GPS tracker in a deep pocket inside my overcoat—and even more luckily Revis had never discovered it.

Withdrawing the device after glancing around suspiciously, I switched the device on—noting with distaste that the battery was very low. I suppose my frequent surveillance of Revis' whereabouts over the many months held a bit of a consequence when I _actually_ needed it.

Nevermind that, soon I would identify Revis' location and then she would learn the _true_ consequence of her actions and rue the day she even _thought_ to disobey me.

As expected a green dot which marked Revis' location appeared on a rough grid of the city.

For now the green dot was stationary—She was somewhere down Elm street which was about a mile and a half from the courts; however, with an accurate map of the city I could find her in half the time needed by navigating through the side streets and alleyways.

Setting off on foot, I realized just how weary I truly was: my feet throbbed in compliant, my shoulders painfully knotted, my limbs felt leaded, and worst of all my mind was affected by _emotion_.

Anger. Humiliation. Betrayal.

I was not able to effectively use my emotions as a catalyst for my strength as I had many times before—No, I was _too_ emotional to accomplish much of anything.

And to think all of this heated 'feeling' originated from **Revis.**

I could not allow things to get out of hand again. I _would_ not allow it.

Despite my clouded mind—clouded by wrath and jaded thoughts—I was fast approaching Revis.

Ignoring the strangely numbed sensation in my body, I focused on **her**—

Was she moving?

Sure enough, the green dot set out at a steady pace down a different street, pausing, and then fleeing down Ninth ave.

Correcting my coordinates, I now began to jog lightly ignoring the ache in my body as I forced it into action. Forty-two and already I was slowing down…or maybe that was just the effort of living in Bane's liberated Gotham, surviving on table scraps, and being worked to a mere wisp of the man I was.

But surely, living with _Revis_ was a factor in my many aches. After I found her there would be no gentle reminders or nights (like this) spent chasing down her whims—No, she'd be obedient, restrained, as _proper_ lunatics ought to be. The mad ex-mortician would not bother me unnecessarily. I had allowed her too much freedom in the past thinking she was capable of assisting me…but I was wrong.

I didn't need an assistant just as I didn't need a crazed loon about…So then why did I need Revis?

Was it desire? The lusting for an intellectual companion, for a welcoming body?

I surely owed Revis nothing, if anything _she_ owed was the one who was indebted to _me._

Madeline was long dead and even with the slight ache of her memory, Revis was no substitute. It was a foolish longing anyway, but I suppose all of humanity needed a 'phantom' to chase. However, I had thought my 'phantom' was the ultimate knowledge and control over fear. My many winding hours of research and experimentation helped me pursue my 'phantom' while quire a different _phantom_ haunted me.

Yet allowing the deceased Madeline to follow me through all my days was hardly an appealing idea. Her time was past, it was time that I accepted that I was too late to save her—back when I believed she was worth saving. Even if she had survived, she would eventually become just another loon in my asylum.

Yet that raised the question if Revis was worth saving?

Here I was blinding rushing toward her instead of ensuring my own safety—and for what? Petty conversation and sexual gratification? A willing test-subject?

A deep frown wrought its way on my face as I continued to jog to Revis' ever moving coordinates.

Revenge then…was_ that_ it?

Such a desire for vengeance has tormented the minds of even the greatest and reduced _them_ to madmen. Many would call me mad for my work and beastly—not at all how a 'man' should act—yet I knew the madness of men more closely than anyone…and so I knew that madness was near unrecognizable in oneself.

So then was I mad and was Revis the cause of my madness? And if so, by treating my affliction—_her—_then was I curing myself or merely wrenching myself into a deeper pit of despair and lunacy?

Should I obliterate the source of my conflict or merely transform it to—to what?

A working conduit within my life?—That plan had failed before.

A confidante?—Ha! As if I would confess unnecessary _emotions_ to _her_.

A fragile pet I would condition to my own desires?—Would it even be worth the effort?

Yes…Yes, it would. I would be Revis' only light in the darkness of her malady; I would be her only authority and command.

I was not saving Revis to atone for my failure to save Madeline; I was correcting and repossessing her for _myself_, for _my_ own gain. What exactly I would gain I didn't know but that didn't matter.

The green dot stopped moving; I hastened my pace—now running through the darkened streets.

I only slowed when I gained a stitch in my side and was at the entrance to the alley she was in. If I came charging she might take me for a run of the mill thug and run herself. No, I'd use a more subtle approach.

Withdrawing her knife and pocketing the GPS I slowly strode into the alleyway. Although broken glass crunched underfoot, I knew I'd catch her by surprise.

It shouldn't be long now…

Halfway through the alley I stopped.

A swarm of rats were rolling over each other in waves of mangy fur, clicking claws, and whip-like tails.

Only by hearing my approach did the swarm scatter a bit allowing me to catch a glimpse of a chain they were wrestling over near an upturned crate with various shredded rags—obviously their nest.

I bent down and grasped a rock before throwing it into their midst. As they separated once more I caught a full view of Revis' necklace.

I didn't need to take out the GPS tracker to know that I was tracking a pack of fucking **rats.**

Now I had no idea how to track her!

Ripping the tracker from my pocket I smashed it against the brick wall in an enraged throw.

I've wasted so much time already…

Running my fingers through my hair distractedly I looked in disgust as clumps of hair came out. My other hand, the one holding her knife, shook with rage. Although my fingers began to cramp, I didn't loosen my grasp.

Swiftly turning around I walked out to the street and glared into the darkness. Normally the unstable streetlights didn't bother me but now when I was trying to seek someone, the lack of light filled me with an embittered fury.

Practically panting with hatred, I stalked off into the night, retracing my steps. It was a gamble but the necklace's location was steady for quire sometime before the rats must have gotten to it. If I went back to that location I could follow any possible clues and _then_ find Revis. After all, I had only seen the necklace move out of half the alley; I never explored the alley itself.

Yet as I finally neared the original alley off of Elm street I felt torn: both cold and empty, exhausted in every sense of the word, but also fiercely agitated and eager to begin Revis' punishment.

She had no glass of aphrodisiacs laced wine to pacify me, there was no impending threat of Merrick's power hanging over us, there was _nothing_ that would stop me this time.

Yet upon entering the alley, a particular smell stopped me. Gotham reeked of metal and misery just as any other large city would but this odor was more suiting for a sewer than anything else.

Cursing silently I regretted smashing the GPS tracker. Even without the necklace, I could use the grid of the city to foresee any trouble—like an abandoned sewer line operation. Then again, the battery was dangerously low and could have died before I even reached this point. No, I would not rely on such quaint methods of keeping tabs on Revis in the future.

Perhaps instead I would utilize an ankle monitor normally used for criminals on parole or better I'd convert a device such as an electric dog fence to Revis, attaching the collar on her ankle and setting up a perimeter of my own choosing—should she pass through it, she'd receive a painful shock…of course, I'd have to increase the voltage to make it _truly_ effective.

Despite the appealing thoughts crossing my mind (and my reluctance to enter the alleyway) I took a tentative step forward into the shadows willing my eyes to adjust further than they had already.

Three more steps in and a pack of rats passed me, one even daring to crawl atop my foot before I kicked it away.

A wet squeak sounded underfoot and with much distaste I saw that I had stepped into what smelled like partially dried vomit. Yet as I moved to the side to scrape my battered and stained shoe against the wall, my hand which balanced me came back…wet.

Peering at my hand I saw the red stains before the coppery smell of blood reached my cold nose.

If Revis was injured—or dead…

I strode forward, not even reaching the halfway point of the alley before I caught sight of a body huddled into the ground covered in filth, insects, and _rats_.

Puddles of blood littered the dark ground. Obviously there had been a struggle and the person before me had lost.

But was it Revis?

Could she possibly become so filthy in such a short time? Without a knife did she resort to a broken shard of glass and mutilate herself? Or perhaps it was in self-defense.

Nearing the body, I noted that the black hair was long and matted.

It wasn't Revis.

Yet had she attacked Revis? Was she a junkie or lunatic?

Apathethically, I kicked the body: once to ensure that it _was_ dead and a second time to roll it over.

Although bloodied, the face was recognizably male.

So then was it a homeless vagrant?

That didn't matter, the newest piece of the puzzle wouldn't make a difference if I never found Revis.

I shifted my grip on the knife as my stomach turned.

There would be no more lies between us…I'd carve out her misplaced will and allow her obedience to rise to the surface, her red, red obedience.

I walked deeper into the alley, eyes sweeping from side to side and although my glasses fell further down my nose than needed (the frames slicked by sweat) I did not move to fix it.

"Revis…" I called out softly, testing the dark echo of the alley.

Faintly a whimper traveled to my ears.

She was here.

Striding forward I caught my first glimpse of Revis then stopped dead in my tracks.

She was trembling, her mouth opening and closing in jerky motions but no words escaped her—only broken sounds.

Her eyes were wide, her pupil's dilated but it was her dirty, bloody hands that drew my attention to her throat.

Her matted hair only added to the shadowy crook of her shoulder yet just beneath her uncontrollably shaking hands near her throat, I knew she was wounded.

_I sat in my chair, head bowed over papers. Medical papers. _

"Case Number: **R 11/04/09/081395**

Incident: **Rape**

Reporting Officer: **Earnest Greene** Date of report: **11 April 2009**

At about 0220 hours on 11th April, 2009, I found patient 081395, alias: Revis, inside her solitary confinement cell with patient 122394, Lucius Grey—"

_ I was leaving my board meeting when I received the call. In fact, I had to pass the medical wing to return to my office so I didn't think there was harm in dropping by—just a peek through the bay windows._

_ I rubbed my eyes tiredly._

_ Revis was no more lively than a comatose patient and while she wasn't sedated, she was lost to the world._

_ Lost to herself._

_ Lost._

And now Revis was lost again, although physically she was hyper-alert, her glazed over eyes and lack of response to my presence (let alone the presence of the knife) proved that she was dissociating.

More physical trauma wouldn't have enacted such a strong response. She left the courtroom agitated, deluded.

Yet a sexual trauma…

Had the man raped her? How did she find the means to ward him off?

I cast my gaze over her body once more.

Her clothes were intact, her posture cramped but she was able to stand without great discomfort.

Then could it be emotional?

Yet the question of how the homeless vagrant was able to undermine her seemed too outlandish. Even the possibility of a stacked trauma wouldn't explain her reaction.

I took three more steps toward Revis, hiding the glint of the knife against the side of my leg.

"Revis?"

No response.

Two more steps.

"Revis, can you hear me?"

Her body jerked to the side as though my words pulled her toward me. Then she was still.

Well, taking into account that Revis was still standing she couldn't be suffering too badly from bloodloss. Her ashen face seemed paler than it usually was but the night was chilled and her coat was hanging off her shoulders.

I'd treat her wound later…when I'd also treat the _other_ wounds, the lacerations that _I_ had yet to inflict.

Although I was the second man to find Revis, I could not put off my treatment plan. Already too much time had been wasted.

Actually…whoever had attacked her merely prepped Revis for my treatment. By subduing Revis' wild whims, he left her mind scarred and oh so malleable.

"Revis?" I asked with a deceptive softness in my voice as I placed my free hand on her shoulder carefully avoiding her trembling hands cradling her neck.

Revis flinched, her body hitting the wall as her eyes scanned the empty space in front of her.

Her mouth began to move with greater urgency than before but not a single sound escaped her.

In a distracted, panicked pattern her eyes slowly began to look closer and closer to where I was standing.

I waited for a little over a full minute before her eyes flickered to my body. Then I waited another two minutes before her sight reached my chin. In one second her eyes flashed to mine then her eyes dropped to the space over my shoulder and gradually slid back to the empty space in front of her.

She began to rock side to side.

I tightened my grip on her shoulder and leaned closer, "Listen to me, Revis. I know you can hear me. You've been very sick but I'm going to treat you now. I'll drive your sickness out…" I raised the knife to her face, "one drop at a time."

Revis' breathing hitched then became hysteric as she shook her head back and forth.

"N—" the faintest syllable of a plea escaped her trembling lips.

Grasping the hand over her neck tightly, I forcibly extended her arm so as to better mark the back of her hand.

**"Yes,"** I emphasized as I pressed the blade into her skin only cutting an inch or so before she began to slowly struggle.

"Sss…" she moved back but I continued to drag the blade across her skin, "Ngh—"

Her face crumpled in confusion as she tried to gently take her hand back.

I ignored her and continued my first incision, blood was seeping out but I paid no heed as my own hands became slick with her warm blood.

"I…ngh—ngh—eh," Revis was torn between fading out and fighting but she wasn't giving me the results I wanted.

I removed the blade from her hand but I didn't release her, "You're truly sick Revis…wasting away inside your body, **poisoned **by your lunacy," I turned my blood slickened hand and firmly pressed the pad of my index finger onto the weeping wound; she hissed and I continued, "Do you still believe that you're Death? Can someone as negligent toward the dead truly believe that?"

At the mention of her (past?) delusion, Revis seemed to gain a bit of clarity.

Although she did not turn her head to face me, she spoke in low stumbling words, "Death is in…everyone."

I more firmly pressed my finger against her wound, "Everyone is mortal, even _you,_ Revis."

She first shook her head then nodded, "We all…possess _Death_, its…" she trailed off for a full minute yet as I twisted my finger so my fingernail dug into her fresh wound, she continued as if jolted awake, "power. When we do…" she started to fade out before I began to stretch her wound open wider, "we release that power. I AM an instrument of Death…So are you."

"You're _not_ an instrument of Death, Revis. _Momento Mori_: **remember** your mortality."

She made direct eye contact and succeeded in pulling her hand away yet her voice was still distant despite its rising agitation, "You're wrong. Death rules everything; we are all instruments of Death."

I raised the knife, "Revis…for every 'regression' you make into your delusion, I will cut you."

Her face curled into a sneer, "You disgust me—"

I shot forward and slammed her against the wall of the alley yet her cry of pain didn't match the amount of pain from the impact.

Revis twisted her body in senseless attempts to alleviate the pain in her neck.

Did the man partially slit her throat? Was there an object lodged in the wound?

Discarding my thoughts I wrapped one hand around her throat, my fingers overlapping swollen skin and jagged, puckered flesh.

"And," I continued, "for any _disobedient_ remarks or actions, I will also punish you."

Revis then did something completely unexpected: she cried.

Her shoulders shook with the force of her sobs as she helplessly gave into the burdensome emotions that had plagued her for years and even dragged _me_ into their depths.

Her tears were also a sign that she was awakening, her brain was not merely dissociating as a defense mechanism against an unknown (to me at least) trauma, but instead it was unfurling as the petals of an evening primrose did once the touch of darkness peeled back its secrets.

"Revis, are you scared?" I asked in a testing voice, tightening my grip.

"J-Jut—" Revis broke off into a shuddering sob before continuing, "Just m-make it STOP!"

Her arms reached out for me but due to the restraining hold I had on her throat, she could not properly clutch me to her filthy and weeping body.

"I-I can't _take_ it anymore!" she shouted, struggling in earnest to better touch me.

"_Please_ Dr. Crane," she begged, staring into my eyes with a strange sense of clarity, "_Please_ help me."

I didn't miss a beat in replying, "Oh Revis, I already am."

She gave me a broken smile as she reached for me once more, this time I allowed it, cradling her tightly in my arms as I brought the knife to her back and dug the blade in her thin shirt and the skin below, "There will be no more secrets between us…"

Instantly she stiffened and gave out a whimper, "D-Dr. Crane?!"

I placed more pressure on the knife, cutting deeper, as I continued my long cut. Now Revis began to struggle.

"Shh…" I told her, holding her arms and body in my tight embrace, "Stop fighting me, Revis. I'm going to cure you."

I brought the blade back to her shoulder once the first cut reached the small of her back.

One drop at a time.


	81. Chapter 22: Iustitia

**Ello! Minion here! First I would like to very formally thank my readers and reviewers for their devotion and critiques of Mors Et Timor over the span of a year and a half. For those who have never given their name but have always given support (thank you, Megushie!); for those who do possess an account and have spoken with me (PurgatoryNymphe (who also helped me with all the French within my story, thank you!), auriellis, AlainHotCoco1, KaiaUchiha1, Maggie Wilde, KnoKnayme, Katherine ,and Shadow the Ranger); for those who have reviewed from the start and weren't listed above corbsxx, foregetmenotflowers, pourquoibella, Eva Sirico, Guest (on 7/2/12 -Chapter 18), RealityChik, Fan O' Fanfic, MonaTheGreat, Darksidefan5, Mignun, DearNoah, dEnIsE tHe StRaNgE (who has disabled PM's when I wanted to say so much), SageParson, nicsnort, Guest (on 3/21/13 -Chapter 62), narutofangirl1213, Sailor nova 1; for those who have favoritied Mors and not reviewed marriedharrypottercast, latenightlullaby, ladybug213, finishyourtea, breaktheradarr, ari87, bkwrm-rtfrk, ZabuzasGirl, Yattalove, XxVeo the Demon HunterxX, Winged'Pollution, TiaraSalvatore, The-dead-girl's-kiss, Songorita, SilverSpoken63, Sagendorf25, MaeveMonster, LittleFishGirl1103, LadyJoker97, Katara Melody Cullen, Just One Bad Day, HiOhio13, GreenUnicorn Girl, Eclipsegirl4488, BloomingFireHeart, Blood-Star-713, Blackgaz22, AsthaRen, Andromeda Athena, and 555LordBacon666; for those who have followed Mors trudes193, trickstersink, morby-chan, .126, asnanime, YumiDarkness, Wicked Little, TeaAndSebastian, TC Stark, Musicaddict1, House Telvanni, Horrorfana, Faye428, Dreaming in Grey, AlishaCorral; for all the readers who have never reviewed, favorited, or followed my story yet who have read and who continue to read; and for all of those in the future who may read and never speak, who may review (I will still reply), and who may favorite or follow. I hope that throughout this journey together you have received more than a story of horror and romance or a window into deranged minds, but that you have been touched by this story, by some little detail or comment in some way that you can never put into words. Thank you everyone-Thank you!**

**Now I have news concerning the sequel 'The Greene Files', which is currently being written. I wrote Mors Et Timor in a little over 2 years and hopefully I can write the sequel or the majority of it in a year or less. I have the majority of the sequel planned it is only the battle between dedicated inspiration and hectic writer's block that will determine when I post the sequel. As before I will update consistently once a week, and in order to do so I will need to build up a supply of chapters for those weeks when I do not write anything. If any of you lose interest in waiting and want to leave Mors at this ending then I understand, yet for those who are interested in waiting for the sequel I can promise you a new pov and many new delights, uncovered truths (most of Mors is buried in lies and secrets), complex plots, and unbearable tragedy. Here is the sequel's summary:**

**"While the investigation on Elisabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane was officially resolved seven years ago, a few loose ends remain. Former Officer, now Detective, Greene continues his own investigation to find the lost innocence of Gotham in the form of Revis, a former mortician and patient of the infamous Dr. Crane. -By Minion"**

**Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 22<strong>

Everything in the room seemed to be lost in a glossy haze; my heart beat dully in my chest; Revis clung to me sobbing; our time was up.

I failed.

"I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you—"

I had one week. Seven days. One-hundred sixty-eight hours.

I failed.

"I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you—"

There should have been enough time; I didn't realize how…_extensive_ Revis' condition was. I should have planned better—I shouldn't have wasted so much time 'curing' Revis from a malady that required _months_ of intensive, invasive treatment instead of a mere _week._

I failed.

"I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you—"

I had neglected to take preemptive measures, to more tightly restrain Revis' lunacy while we were living on borrowed time, first in Merrick's manor and then in Bane's liberated Gotham.

I failed.

"I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you—"

Now it was too late. Although I suppose I was overly hasty in my calculations; we still had two hours left. Or at least we _had_ two hours…

I failed.

"I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you—"

Yet strangely…I didn't feel regret. I didn't feel much of anything. Unlike Revis who was quite _overwhelmed_ by our current fate. She had made marginal progress, once the bleeding and pleading had subsided, but it was difficult to recreate her dissociated, repressed mindset amidst numerous acts of trauma and stressors. The result would have emerged in time, and even in our limited _time_ I saw flickers of that empty gaze that intrigued me upon first meeting Revis. Yet they were only flickers…and now we were both lost.

I failed.

"I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you—"

The bomb within Gotham would detonate, for days now the livelihood of even the lowliest addict had dampened considerable if it was not snuffed out entirely. Bane's 'liberation' didn't seem so _ideal_ anymore and consequently no one walked the streets in their final hours. No one showed up to the courts, and even crime seemed to screech to a halt.

I failed.

"I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you—"

Then the riots started as the once buried police force rose to the surface like worms squirming through mud after rain. Once more the streets of Gotham were in panic as Bane's militia squared off with the GCPD. I took this time to more quickly treat Revis as wild rumors spread—some even saying that _Batman_ had returned.

I failed.

"I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you—"

Even if the flying rat had returned we were doomed. I wasted my chances to simply lock Revis away in a room where no one would find her and instead seek out Bane. Despite the past occurrences of Revis disappearing my actions were…_irrational_ to say the least.

I failed.

"I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you—"

Numbly I petted Revis' hair as she sobbed on my lap.

"Why are you crying?"

I failed.

"I-I don't…I don't want you to die!" Revis cried, griping my dirty slacks tightly.

I failed.

"You're acting like a child, Revis."

She raised her face, blotched red and stained with tears, "How can you be so heartless?! I—I love you and you…you're going to die."

I tilted her chin before it could tuck into her collarbone as she tried to curl back onto my lap, "_Momento Mori_, Revis."

Her face crumpled, "I **hate** that! What use is there in remembering mortality when we're going to die any second now! I…I just want you to die knowing that I love you."

I failed.

"Not more than a week ago, you confessed that you had almost murdered me…Now that my death is in someone _else's_ hands, does it bother you? To know that you lost control of my demise, that we are both powerless in life and now in death?"

Revis' lip trembled and for a moment I feared she'd burst into even more senseless tears but instead she seemed to grow more composed. In other circumstances I would have smiled weakly at the advance but I hardly felt like smiling now.

I failed.

"We _are_ going to die…Aren't we?" Revis asked, numbed.

Instead of answering, I leaned forward and used my grip on her chin to pull her into a kiss. Although the kiss was long and of all the moments used to exchange affections ours was the most appropriate…I felt nothing.

I failed.

Revis positioned herself atop of me, holding me tightly in an embrace as we shared the large, mocking throne used for the 'Judge' of Bane's court. I continued to pet Revis' darkened hair, her torn yet healing neck, her lacerated back. If I was causing her more pain, she never gave any sign of her discomfort.

I failed.

What were we supposed to do now? Bane never called for my skills and as the days continued on I realized I too had been discarded as a useless tool. It seemed Bane wasn't going to take any chances as time ticked away and panic deluded even the most stable of minds—like mine.

I failed.

Reflecting was useless; time only marched forward leading our sickly funeral procession with utmost punctuality. Yet still my eyes wandered, not to the previous wasted week but to the woman I held in my arms. I closed my eyes and rested my head against hers as the punishing thought continued to lash my mind.

I failed.

An explosion sounded in the distance—and now, with any passing second, we would die.

…

We waited—Even as a _second_ explosion rocked the earth, we continued to wait.

Senseless fears crossed our minds, vague words of affection sometimes slipped from our lips, but we never moved from our position and we never wanted to accept that each breath, each thought, each heartbeat, and each word were like seconds…their passing marked our nearing demise.

It wasn't until those seconds turned to minutes and those minutes turned to hours that our waiting seemed…tedious almost.

The first two explosions, although the second was undeniably more powerful, were probably just the antics of a depraved lunatic creating chaos among an anarchist state.

My eyes flickered to the clock, its face was cracked and its battery dead but whether by habit or fancy I continued to watch the motionless clock.

It almost felt like we too were suspended in time…always waiting.

It wasn't until I heard the brazen alarm of sirens in the distance that I knew something was amiss.

Revis merely tightened her grip on me and whispered, "Would they give out a warning? Is there anyone _worth_ warning?"

We paused, listening to our breath mingle in the empty courtroom as dust swirled in the fading rays of the sun. Although it was only a single pane of glass that separated us, it seemed as though all warmth was leeched from the room. If not for our beating hearts, churning blood throughout our bodies, I felt that we too would freeze.

Yet the sirens continued and it seemed a new riot was breaking out in the streets, their shouts shook the windows of our empty fortress.

Was this it? The frenzy before oblivion?

No…the shouts they sounded too organized, repetitious almost. The frenzied screams and hoarse panic seemed absent from the Gothamites scurrying outside.

Did Batman really—

"How inconsiderate," Revis muttered, chuckling darkly, "Even in our last hour we can't mourn in peace."

Is that what this was? Mourning?

"There is no peace to the wicked," I murmured absentmindedly.

Revis reached for my hand, the one which was not stroking the back of her head near her neck, and wove her fingers in between mine, "Yes…Yes, there is."

"**CITZENS OF GOTHAM, HELP IS ON THE WAY! PLEASE GO TO THE RED CROSS CENTER ON MAIN STREET."**

Revis looked at me in confusion as we listened to the bullhorn outside as more sirens joined the scene.

"**THE CRISIS IS OVER. HELP IS ON ITS WAY! PLEASE GO TO THE RED CROSS CENTER ON MAIN STREET."**

Cheers filled the street, the bullhorn continued its message, and a sickening relief was falling over Gotham.

Revis spoke softly, grasping my arm tightly, "The city will be reclaimed—We can't stay here…"

She trailed off, no doubt thinking over _how_ we had survived.

Yet we heard our answer as the crowds chanted one name amid the chaos of recovery:

**Batman.**

Revis trembled in my lap, "T-They'll hunt us…like before. We're not safe here," she paused searching my eyes for some emotion—I knew there was none, "Why won't you say anything?! We miraculously survived and you can just **sit** there!"

As Revis pushed against my chest to emphasize her point, I grabbed her hands, "Revis. How do you think The Batman saved us? You heard the explosions, while the flying rat is resourceful he isn't immortal."

Her face stared at mine in confusion and that's when I realized that Revis had never met Batman before, she didn't know the man's formidable stature and dangerous mind, "How do _you_ know he is dead?"

"I never said he was," I spoke calmly as my mind raced, "If he died, the GCPD will trip over themselves trying to capture us while memorializing him. If he's alive, no matter his 'heroics', they'll put him on trial. Yet knowing him, should he survive he'll avoid capture and then hunt us down along with whatever criminals the police failed to round up. Apart from the overly-optimistic possibility of his death, we are at a disadvantage."

Revis allowed me to hold her hands. She probably thought I didn't realize I was still touching her, "He saved us…That's more than _you_ ever did. Shouldn't we—"

Her words hit me with a burning irony as I retorted, "Do what, Revis? 'Thank him'? Do you think you'd survive long in _Arkham_? We are merely recipients of his public service. If he saw us he wouldn't concern himself with our 'gratitude' but instead our _arrest_. Batman isn't bound by the law, only his 'moral' code."

"So then what's left for us?" Revis asked quietly, "What will it be: Death or Exile?"

I stared at Revis, her pale face contrasting against the dark shadows below her reddened eyes; I thought of the _emotions_ she evoked within me and the countless times she endangered me; I felt her hands tremble in mine, her body resting so easily against the same man who tortured her not even a day ago; I remembered my failed treatment, the many hours of Revis' screaming and my own voice hoarse from shouting rationality back at her, the blood-soaked trench coat she insisted on wearing even now; I recognized the fatal irrationality I possessed, the irrationality _she_ caused—but I couldn't bring myself to choose.

Instead I once more kissed Revis, feeling nothing but the pressure of our lips and the mocking of emptiness within me.

Tired of the nothingness, I pulled back and stared into the vibrant _life_ Revis possessed. It was then that I felt a spark of hope.

We were alive, her treatment would continue, and we would give Gotham what it deserved:

"Justice."


End file.
